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| Because I'm so backlogged in this book log, I actually finished White Teeth several months ago and have been puzzling about its ending ever since. Zadie Smith's first novel is a gem, to be sure, and I'd have to agree with all of the praise on her book jacket saying that she has a knack for writing realistic dialog in realistic dialects. White Teeth is a story about two families in which the patriarchs are two World War II veterans. Each takes a young bride, who is probably a quarter of a century his junior, and each fathers a child or children. In the case of Archie, a Brit, his wife is Jamaican immigrant Clara, and they produce clever, headstrong Irie. In the case of Samad, an Indian immigrant who fights with the British forces during the war, his wife is Alsana, and they have twin sons, Magrid and Millat. (Please forgive my spelling here, as I don't have the book nearby.) The story of the book is largely centered around these families' ability to assimilate into a foreign country. Although the book is set in England and Archie is a native, even he has difficulty fitting into a world in which no one has interest in his war stories and he seems, at best, a forgotten relic of an earlier time. The same is true of Samad, who believes that his sons would grow up in a better world if they were still in India. It is from this conflict of assimilation that the book's title is derived. White Teeth are a symbol of beauty—possibly of Western beauty. Clara loses her front teeth in a childhood accident and dentures (white teeth) make her feel normal. I greatly enjoyed this book and Smith's ability to draw such a colorful selection of characters. I just question why she ended the story at the moment that she did, but a book that leaves you with questions is perhaps a good thing. |
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You may have noticed that I have a slight fascination with death. It's no surprise, then, that I took a liking to Mary Roach's Stiff, a book that is taglined "The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers." Indeed, the book gives an overview of pretty much everything that a regular Joe might want to know about dead bodies. A lot of the book focuses on bodies that have been donated to science. Before reading Stiff, I had assumed that this was a rare practice, reserved for weirdos with no families or religious ties. Roach, though, really drives home how valuable each and every donated cadaver is to health and safety advances. It wasn't until reading this book that I would have given any serious thought to donating my own body, but I find the idea much more satisfying than the thought that tests that could be performed on my dead body might otherwise be performed on live lab animals (like guinea pigs being propelled towards a wall--and their deaths--in order to recreate a plane or automobile crash, as described in the book. This is not to say that the book reads like propaganda. Roach clearly takes the approach that donating your body makes more sense than taking up space in the earth, rotting unnaturally, but she is still skeptical of it. The book opens with her observing a class of students who are performing face lifts on severed heads. It is difficult to think, she basically muses, that all your body becomes useful for is bettering cosmetic surgery. On the whole, I'd say Stiff is a balanced look at what happens or could happen after you die and what breakthroughs are being made, thanks in part to other people's fascination with death and dead bodies. |
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I'm embarrassed to admit that, prior to reading Vladamir Nabokov's Lolita within the past month or so, my knowledge of the book was extremely limited. Oh, I knew it was essentially a story of pedophelia--that it was about a man (Humbert Humbert) who takes up residence with a woman (Charlotte Haze) and her (pre)adolescent daughter (Delores or Lolita) and immediately lusts after her. I also knew that Humbert had committed some kind of crime (and this is made obvious by the fact that he begins narrating the story from jail), but I didn't know if it was rape or murder. I didn't know the extent of his affair with Lolita, and I had always understood her to be a complete innocent, even if tempting, to the man in question. Approaching this book with such limited knowledge allowed me to appreciate a classic as so few get to these days: by not knowing what would happen next. In this, I found myself increasingly interested and wanting to know where the story was headed. Remarking on how late I would stay up to read, my husband commented that he never would've suspected that Lolita was a page turner. But it is! I also found myself, at first, loathing Humbert Humbert for being such a vile creature who preyed (or desired to prey) on children. The fact remains that he is a pedophile. Nevertheless, by the end of the book, Nabokov had won me over with his protagonist's wit and romantic longing. Humbert's feelings for Lolita, while seemingly unnatural given the difference in age, were really quite pure in their intent. And seeing the world, briefly, through a pedophile's eyes, growing to understand him, and aching to know what would had happened to him, made me fall in love with this book. It surprised me with its humor and overwhelmed me with its take on love, longing, and loss. It truly deserves its status as a classic. |
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It is somewhat amusing that, in my last review, I criticized Audrey Niffenegger for so-called "lazy" writing, and it has been nothing but laziness that has kept me from updating in three and a half months. Nevertheless, I have been keeping a list of books that I have read and have yet to review and so I will slowly make my way through the list, picking off those books that I feel most compelled to write about. Presently, I feel compelled to write about Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49. And the reason I chose it was to contrast with The Time Traveler's Wife and the lazy technique of using song lyrics. In other words, here is a fine example of writing that employs a tactic that I often find less than ideal, yet it never feels trite. Perhaps it is because the lyrics are original and not of the Top 40 variety that one assumes Niffenegger just happened to be listening to while writing. Either way, Pynchon's writing is verbose, complex, and intoxicating. It is only in the lyrics of his fictional teenage punk band that there is a sense of simplicity in his words, and it might very well be a much needed break. Aside from this small detail of the book, there is an entire plot that has nothing to do with song lyrics. The story is about Oedipa Maas, who has to execute the will of her recently deceased ex-boyfriend. This duty leads her to the town of San Narciso, Calfornia, where she attempts to unravel a mystery in order to find meaning in an otherwise meaningless world. To return briefly to the idea of song lyrics, then, it is not necessary that they have any relevance at all as Pynchon has created a universe that is perhaps void of meaning. Nevertheless, they help to round out a robust social satire that some consider to be Pynchon's finest work. |
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I have a couple of literary pet peeves--two devices that, to me, signify lazy writing. These two devices are song lyrics and dreams, and Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife employs both of them in order to tell the story of Claire and Henry, a pair of star-crossed lovers whose ill fate is caused not by feuding families but by Henry's ability to time travel (or, more specifically, by his inability to control said time travel). Now, I would be remiss to not mention that plenty of the world's greatest writers have used either song or dream in their writings. The one who immediately springs to mind is Dostoyevsky, whose books have been described as a great many things but never lazy. Nevertheless, I thought only of laziness when Niffenegger had her characters burst into popular song or when she used dreams in order to create meaning and depth in her work. I found it lazy. …Of course, also having heard from everyone and their dog that this is the greatest book of our time may have something to do with why I cannot recommend it so glowingly. There is nothing wrong with the book, save for a few passages that seem "lazy." It's an easy read, a romantic read, an interesting read. I just didn't get anything out of the book, and, if devices like dreams and song lyrics were meant to help me get something out of the book, then this simply wasn't meant for me. |
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Brian D. Price wrote Meals to Die For while serving time in a Texas penitentiary, working in the prison's kitchen and preparing the last meals for some of the state's most notorious killers. His book aims to cast doubt on the guilt of some of the men profiled and to criticize the death penalty. Unfortunately, Meals works better as a catalog of crimes and final words than as a piece of propaganda. This is because the book describes (often in gruesome detail) the crimes committed by the men (and one woman) sentenced to death. This is perhaps a fair presentation of facts, but reading about a man raping and killing an 80-year-old woman and then being expected to feel sorry for him as Price sums up the man's tearful last statement is a difficult task. Moreover, Price actually condemns several of the men for their brutality and considers the punishment just and later backpedals to say that the death penalty is a horrible, inhumane act. In this, the book is oddly presented and attempting to accomplish too many things. At times, Price merely lists the crime, meal request, and last words. At other times, he offers commentary, musings with his cellmate, banter from the kitchen, anti-death penalty preaching, and vengeful satisfaction. Nevertheless, the book fulfilled its purpose for me: I was hoping to find what the title promised and in that, it delivers. You will read the last meal requests of dozens of executed criminals. Beyond that, though, there's really nothing here. |
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From the Second City alumni who brought the world "Strangers with Candy" comes Wigfield, a 2003 tome about a small town that is in danger of being destroyed if the government passes a bill to tear down a nearby dam. The story is told from the point of view of Russell Hokes, a wannabe writer who happens upon a rather large book advance and then has to actually write a book. He ventures to Wigfield and tells a story about an eccentric batch of characters who happen to inhabit a town filled with strip clubs, used tire lots, and the world's first rabbit-only theater troupe. The book is written by Amy Sedaris, Stephen Colbert, and Paul Dinello and consists of such tremendous wordplay that I often marveled at how this is a collaboration and not the work of one mind. What I mean is that, although the book is filled with such wit that attributing it to more than one person makes sense, the characters' voices and use of language fit together so well that one can't tell where the pieces joined together. Regardless, it's a fun--if incredibly silly--read. For any fans of Colbert, Second City, "Strangers with Candy," the Sedaris siblings, or Dinello, this is a must read. |
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After nearly two years, I have decided to return to this abandoned project of documenting some of the books I read in the hopes of encouraging myself to read more. To begin again, I thought I would post the one or two reviews that I wrote but never published on this site as well as a few reviews from books I have read over the last couple of years--books that resonated with me enough that I could actually write about them a year or more later. The first of these books is Choke by Chuck Palahniuk. This is the first Palahniuk book that I have read. I say "first" and not "only" because I was so entertained by this novel that I fully intend to read others but still have not managed to pick up even his most definitive tome, Fight Club. While Choke may not have the allure of the now-a-major-motion-picture Fight Club, it is a strong work on its own. The action revolves around Victor Mancini, a med school dropout and sex addict, who repeatedly fakes choking to near death in crowded restaurants so that other diners will appear to save his life and then feel compelled to give him money (the plan is slightly more complicated than this, but this is the gist). Victor uses this money to help his mother, who is wasting away on her death bed. …Okay, that's probably the worst plot summary ever written for this book (man, I'm out of practice!). But the book isn't the downer that my description makes it seem. Instead it's sarcastic and funny and clever, and Palahniuk's prose is quick and smart. Based solely on this book, I would recommend his work highly and, weak summary aside, that's hopefully doing Palahniuk and Choke some justice. |
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Nearly a decade ago, when I read Franken's Rush Limbaugh Is a Big Fat Idiot, I thought that Franken was a little too snarky, a little too biased. This made me hesitant to read another book by Franken, and I picked up Lies in a bookstore with no intentions of buying it. Well, I may not have bought it, but I enjoyed it thoroughly. Never once during my reading of this book did I think that Franken was exaggerating or writing with an unfair bias. While it goes without saying that Franken is a Democrat who wants to make his fellow Democrats look good, he does not need to stretch the truth to do so. Likewise, the Republicans he lampoons (George W. Bush, Bill O'Reilly, Ann Coulter, Sean Hannity, to name a few) do a fine job of making themselves look bad without Franken distorting facts. And that, in a nutshell, is why I was highly entertained by and pleased with Lies. I never felt like Franken was manipulating me to forward his agenda. I never felt like he wanted to do much more beyond set the record straight. While web sites aplenty pop up in efforts to tarnish Franken's name, they have no case against this fair and balanced liberal. |
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Before this book, I was on the fence about Steve Martin. Sure, he's made me laugh, but I don't consider The Jerk the work of comic genius that many others do. Likewise, I was unimpressed by Martin's novella Shopgirl. Still, his Picasso at the Lapine Agile was a highly creative play that I had the pleasure of seeing nearly a decade ago. Pure Drivel could potentially put Picasso to shame. This collection of short stories and essays made me laugh nearly as often as it made me shake my head in wonder at this man's incredible imagination. The book opens with the strong essay, "Public Apology," written from the point of view of a politician. He follows this with "Writing Is Easy," a how-to on being a writer, complete with tips on how to plagiarize without being caught. The book continues with essay after essay of equally strong and hilarious entries. My personal favorites include "Dear Amanda," a collection of letters from an ex-boyfriend; "Schrodinger's Cat," an amusing assortment of hypothetical situations; and "The Hundred Greatest Books That I've Read," a clever list that chronicles a man's life. If this book proves anything, it is that I have underestimated Martin's talents to create bizarre and unique situations and to follow through with delightfully strange outcomes. Pure Drivel is the perfect vehicle for Martin's talents, and I hope that he can match this ingenuity in another marvelous work. |
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Ever since I read Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code last August as a promise to my dad (who thought the controversial mystery novel was amazing), I've been meaning to pick up a volume that could clarify for me what is fact and what is fiction in Brown's tale. A year later, I chose Bock's work. At the book store, I looked through a number of books that claimed to debunk the Christianity-defying declarations of The Da Vinci Code, but I shied away from those endorsed by Tim LaHaye of the Left Behind series fame. In such cases, the religious bias was obvious. I wanted something less concerned with proselytizing and more concerned with asserting what is known, what is debatable, and what is complete nonsense. Despite Bock's PhD and the supposed educational purposes of Breaking the Da Vinci Code, this book fails in such a mission. Although Bock does support most of his theories, he quickly jumps to conclusions. For instance, Brown's book offers the idea that Jesus would have been married. Although today he is perceived as having been a bachelor, this would have been unlikely of such a religious man. Yet Bock suggests that some highly religious men remained unmarried as a sign of their devotion, thus this could be the case with Jesus. Yet then he jumps to the conclusion that this completely "breaks" Brown's ideas: Some men weren't married; we think of Jesus as unmarried. Then, clearly he wasn't married! As if the topic were so simple. I should consider reading Holy Blood, Holy Grail, the work on which many of Brown's ideas were based. This would offer me the proof to understand what has some evidence behind it and what was given as mere plot elements. Bock's book fails in this endeavor, as he is far too concerned with Christian propaganda. |
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I'm not sure how I managed to graduate from college with a degree in English without ever having read The Great Gatsby. Fortunately, I decided during the summer after graduation that I would read this American classic, and I'm awfully glad I did. Although the novel didn't immediately draw me in, I was captivated by the end of the second chapter. Fitzgerald's descriptions painted the scenery and characters for me, so that they became incredibly real. I was able to enter this book entirely--without skepticism and without my usual critical eye. Yes, I loved Gatsby. I realize how dull this declaration is, but I have nothing negative to say about this book. Likewise, I have nothing new to say in its praise. Merely, I am glad that I finally read it. |
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Jar of Fools, a so-called "graphic novel," was originally serialized but can now be purchased in its entirety in book form. Something tells me, though, that this might have been better in smaller bits. Jason Lutes' black and white drawings lack sophistication, although they do serve their purpose. As for his story, it's an odd mishmash of magic and escape artistry combined with the idea of broken hearts. At the center of the plot is a young magician named Ernesto, whose brother died some time in the recent past from what may have been a suicide. Ernesto has also recently ended a relationship with Esther for no apparent reason (the best explanation the reader is offered is that it was just too "hard"). The story is complicated when Ernesto's mentor Flosso asks for his assistance in escaping from a retirement home, but this plot line never goes anywhere. Likewise, the ending addresses the major conflicts in the story but leaves the reader unsatisfied and unsure of what is exactly happening. But I hesitate to say that any of this makes Jar of Fools a bad book. Instead, I venture to say that the graphic novel may be a form beyond my appreciation. With the writing stripped down to simple dialogue and the illustrations far too minimalist to reveal anything of greater substance, Jar of Fools portrays its genre as void of any greater meaning, any substance beyond the black and white on the page. For my money, that's cutting it a bit thin. |
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Although it was published in 1997, the issues that Joan Jacobs Brumberg raises in The Body Project are as timely as they were seven years ago. Among these issues is the primary theme that it is much more complicated to grow up in a woman's body today than it was a century ago. By exploring the history of American's views toward menstruation, dieting, and complexion (among other topics), Brumberg shows how the restraints placed on women's bodies are no longer external but internal. In other words, while our society has advanced itself by devaluing the hymen and by rejecting the corset, young females today still are bombarded with imagery of flat stomachs, toned thighs, and perfect skin. While the female body is maturing earlier than ever, the female mind is not able to cope with her new sexuality in a world that regards her as a sexual object. This is essentially Brumberg's thesis and she executes it in an entertaining and serious method. This is definitely a book for women of all ages to read in order to understand their bodies better in an environment where their bodies are so often the focus of attention. |
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I have little to say about Song of Solomon, which I read nearly a month ago. My simple critique is that the writing in this novel is typical of Morrison--it is fluid and full of imagery. Yet the plot that focuses on Milkman and his aunt Pilate leaves a lot to be desired. Of course, knowing that Morrison has received a Nobel Prize for her literature makes me feel ignorant in my inability to appreciate this particular work. Nevertheless, having read The Bluest Eye, I know that she has made much greater contributions to literature and this book is a weak sample of Morrison's talents. |
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Rock Springs is a collection of ten stories by the Pulitzer Prize-winning Richard Ford. While several stories are noteworthy, the overall collection is bleak and depressing. Thus, as I commend this remarkable storyteller, I shy away from a second volume by Ford. I will need time to recover before diving into another work. Perhaps the best story in the collection is "Great Falls," which I had previously encountered in my fiction writing class. Reading this story for the second time hindered none of the eloquence of Ford's language, the novelty of its premise, or the brilliance of its conclusion. "Children" is equally poignant as a glimpse of two adolescent boys who must spend a day with the underage one-night-stand of one boy's father. "Going to the Dogs" is a lighter tale of two overweight, middle-aged female hunters who stop at the cabin of a lonely man, recently left by his wife. Finally, the title story of the collection is a gloomy portrait of a man on the run with nowhere to go. When his stolen car breaks down in the middle of the night with his girlfriend and her daughter inside, he walks to a nearby trailer park to call a cab. The conversation he has in that trailer park is touching as are later moments in the tale. Ford is a terrific storyteller who is able to encapsulate believable characters and unique situations in his stories. I have great respect for his mastery of his craft--I only wish that he'd make me laugh instead of sigh next time. |
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Rosencrantz & Guildrenstern Are Dead was a relatively random bookstore find. Searching for the works of Sophocles, I decided to pick up something modern. Tom Stoppard's plays stood out to me. Having heard of this one, I chose it. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead tells another side to the wellknown tale of Hamlet, and it is filled with much humor and irony. That said, I'm sure that I could have extracted more from this play had I read or seen Hamlet more recently. Although the story were simple enough to follow, there were times when I wished that I at least had footnotes to guide my reading. Likewise, I am sure this play would be noticeably more entertaining had I seen it rather than read it. While I liked being able to reread the clever wordplay of the title characters, having these words spoken and acted out before me would have had a more memorable and understandable effect. Even so, Stoppard's play is wonderful and smart. His use of language is wildly imaginative as is his use of the Players who reenact the king's murder. This was a phenomenal play. |
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When I decided to major in English Literature, I signed myself up to be perceived as an expert on all books. Whenever a conversation turns to literature and it is discovered that I have not read a particular book, this news is met with shock.Sometimes I'm asking for it. For instance, I haven't read Ulysses. More often, though, I am equally amazed--amazed that I am expected to have read anything that ever graced the Bestseller List. This was my reaction to the assumption that I should have read Tom Robbins' body of work. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues was loaned to me as the best introduction to this supposedly great writer. It tells the story of Sissy Hankshaw, a young woman with enormous thumbs who becomes an avid hitchhiker (ha?). She meets a colorful cast of characters who include a Native American painter, a male "Countess" who controls the feminine hygiene market, and a group of cowgirls led by the curiously-named Bonanza Jellybean. Robbins' language is often fun, and, at times he seems like Toni Morrison with a sense of humor. Occasionally, one can get lost in his flowing wordplay. Frequently, though, it is too obvious; I quickly became bored with the dozens of similes for Sissy's well-developed digits. Also, Robbins exhausts any humor to be had from the feminine hygiene subplot (of course, there isn't much to be had in the first place). His best concept is the character called "The Chink" who, along with several tribes of Native Americans, constructs two "clockworks." It is in this underdeveloped section that Cowgirls achieves its greatest philosophizing and the novel briefly reaches its potential. Sadly, though, "The Chink" and his incredible ideas are small in comparison to those mighty thumbs. |
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Similar to my last entry, The Last Temptation represents a genre with which I have little experience. McDermid's story is a mystery, solved by a clever psychological profiler, Tony Hill, called out of retirement. He must solve the murders of a growing number of psychologists while his colleague, Carol Jordan, goes undercover to capture a drug smuggler. Despite some disturbing images from the murder scenes and the murderer's painful childhood, The Last Temptation is a light, straightforward read. It is also surprisingly entertaining. Although McDermid's narration is far from groundbreaking, for what it is, it's an alluring novel. |
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I picked up The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club in an attempt to familiarize myself with the genre (sub-genre?) known as "chick lit." I wanted to test out one of those breezy beach reads that have become so popular in the last few years. This work by Notaro, an Arizona-based humorist, was about as far as I was willing to delve in a notably shallow collection. The Adventure Club is the not-so-slick repackaging of Notaro's newspaper columns, each only a few pages in length. There are a lot of stories of Notaro drinking with her friends, such as "The Useless Black Bra and the Stinkin'-Drunk Twelve-Step Program" or of Notaro detailing an inferiority complex ("Waking Angela Up") that seems commonplace in a work of this genre. While I did laugh out loud several times at Notaro's antics, I mostly had the feeling that I could write this book: Notaro's adventures aren't half as extraordinary as the knows-no-bounds excitement of her New York Times bestseller peer David Sedaris. Moreover, Notaro's language is so conversational that the text sometimes seems pasted from an internet chat room. Finally, these elements might be forgivable if Notaro managed to draw some in-depth conclusions about her life or the lives of similar Idiot Girls. Sadly, the only thing she seems to have learned is that she can be attractive with a lot of make-up, a bra, and a martini glass--and that's anything but funny. |
