fiftytwo

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Book Fifteen: Shelf Discovery

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sat, 01 May 2010 06:49:00 +0000

Shelf Discovery: The Teen Classics We Never Stopped Reading, Lizzie Skurnick

You're probably going to automatically love this book if you ever read any YA novels of the 70s or 80s. I mean, come on, we all grew up reading and loving this stuff, right? And Lizzie Skurnick's enthusiasm for the subject is quite infectious. She covers all the good stuff: all the Judy Blume, Lois Duncan, Madeleine L'Engle, Beverly Cleary, Paula Danziger, Paul Zindel, Katherine Paterson, Richard Peck, and, of course, V.C. Andrews.

The is essentially a collection of Skurnick's blog posts from her Fine Lines column on Jezebel. Which is great and a lovely column. However this book often feels like you're essentially reading a blog. (And really, shouldn't we put a moratorium on books made entirely from blogs? Especially when you don't even bother to correct any of the typos?) Her tone is insanely casual, peppered with frequent "omigod!"s and ALL CAPS WHEN SHE WANTS YOU TO KNOW HOW EXCITED SHE IS and way too many "Best. Book. Ever."s. Which shouldn't really take away from the joy of reliving these classics, but sometimes I expect just a little more from an actual book.

So perhaps I've grown up too much.

Book Fourteen: The Girl Who Played with Fire

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 04:25:00 +0000

The Girl Who Played with Fire, Stieg Larsson

Okay, I really love these books. But there were moments--mere moments--in this one where he kind of lost me. Like the entire page devoted to listing out Ikea purchases by name. That's kind of cool if you're an Ikea geek like me, or maybe if you're Swedish, but I wonder how many other people really want to read what is essentially an Ikea catalogue when they originally set out to read a thriller. And don't get me started on the big climactic scene. There's a certain amount of suspension of disbelief when you go into books like this, and yet the ending really, really, really requires you to suspend some major disbelief.

But anyhows, super entertaining, good read, great characters, good plot... can't wait to read the next one.

Book Thirteen: Autobiography of a Face

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 06:04:00 +0000

Autobiography of a Face, Lucy Grealy

This is the "companion book" to Ann Patchett's Truth & Beauty. However, it was written by Lucy Grealy before Ann Patchett probably ever conceived of her book. And while the two are so inherently linked in nature, they also feel like so very different, very separate book about very different subject matter. While Ann's book is about the nature of friendship, Lucy's book is about the struggles of identity and self-image and family and beauty.

I have to admit, I have complicated feelings about both of these books. While I was swept up in my emotional response to Ann's book, I found myself analyzing and overthinking Lucy's book. I'm not sure if that's simply because I read Ann's first, or because of something different about their writing styles. One of our book club members happened to have read them in the other order, and felt more strongly about Lucy's book, while I had a hard time connecting to this one.

And isn't it fascinating, the way we project our own "stuff' onto the books we read, and how our experiences--whether that be what books we read before or what our own life experience happened to be--play a major role in how we respond to these books.

Book Twelve: Truth & Beauty

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 06:44:00 +0000

Truth & Beauty, Ann Patchett

This book made me cry. It surprised me and delighted me and broke my heart. But any books that describe dreams in which dead friends come back to you to tell you everything will be alright will always, always strike a very personal chord with me.

Maybe I will try to be a little less dismissive of memoirs, especially if they are more like this.

Book Eleven: A Way of Life, Like Any Other

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 06:24:00 +0000

A Way of Life Like Any Other, Darcy O'Brien

Books like this are exactly the reason why I seek out NYRB editions. It's so clear that they work hard to find true lost classics and reissue them so us lazy folks don't have to look for them ourselves. I honestly never would have known about this (mostly autobiographical) novel had I not noticed its gorgeous, characteristically NYRB cover on the shelves of Powell's and given it a shot because (almost) all NYRB books rule.

The nameless narrator (we can assume this is probably a young Darcy O'Brien, though his father begins to call him Salty for no apparent reason later in the novel, which I love) is the son of two Hollywood stars who lives a charmed life early on. But that life becomes less sweet as his parents age, cease to be cinema darlings, divorce, and use him as a vehicle for their various neuroses. His mother is a depressed alcoholic who can't seem to find love, and his father moves in with his mother-in-law and becomes an eccentric recluse. The book follows him as he moves between his parents and friends, and while it is all so insane it must be true, it is equally parts hilarity and tragedy.

I hate to put this in the "coming-of-age" or "dysfunctional family" classes of books, because that seems too diminutive. While this book is simply the story of a boy growing up with crazy parents, it's also just a great, well-told story.

In fact, I can't wait to re-read it.

Book Ten: The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 06:00:00 +0000

The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag, Alan Bradley

Yay! I really needed more Flavia in my life and I got her. I love this implausibly precocious, mystery solving 11-year-old chemistry enthusiast. These books are pure escapism for me--I really wish I could live in Bishop's Lacey and I wish I could cruise around town on my trusty bike, Gladys, and get into, okay, not as much trouble as Flavia, but maybe just a little bit of trouble.

A+ mystery. A+ anglophilic indulgence.

Book Nine: The Gone-Away World

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 05:39:00 +0000

The Gone-Away World, Nick Harkaway

Imagine this book is your boyfriend. You meet this guy and you are instantly attracted and intrigued so you decide to date him. Sure, he talks fancy and makes you laugh and, at first, makes you feel great when you're around him. But, after a while, you start to think he might be kind of one dimensional "Maybe he's all talk. Maybe he just likes to listen to his own voice and his fancy words and he doesn't care about me at all." But, you give him the benefit of the doubt and stick with him. But the magic is definitely starting to wear off. And then he does something bad. Ok, so he doesn't hit you, but he makes you feel really horrible. And you think, "This is it. We're done. I am out of here." But then he suddenly, out of nowhere. he does something truly magical. He takes you on a magical date or bring you the most amazing gift or surprises you with a gesture of utter thoughtfulness and sincerity... something that gives you actual chills. You feel transported and amazing. So you give him another chance. And so it goes. Up and down, up and down. Most of the time you can't stand him, but every so often, when you're ready to break up with him, he surprises you with a moment of true beauty and then you're not so sure.

Yup, that pretty much sums up how I felt about this book. 90% of the time I couldn't stand it. I thought Nick Harkaway's writing was contrived and irritating, I thought he watched too many movies by directors like Quentin Tarantino, David Fincher, and Guy Ritchie. I thought the book could have used a good editor. But then, there were a handful of moments that really did give me chills. That were so simply moving in their truth and beauty that I felt like I had to continue on. I just wish there were more of those moments. Sure, I'm glad I stuck with it and finished the book, but I kind of resent all the time I spent on the rest of it. We probably should never have gone out in the first place.

Book Eight: The Story of a Marriage

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 23:47:00 +0000

The Story of a Marriage, Andrew Sean Greer

I am so glad I loved this book, because my friend Jenn has given me a couple of books to read and I didn't like either of them so very much. So when she put this one on my doorstep I thought, "Oh no! How will I be able to tell her that I disliked this one, too?!" But not this time. Oh my goodness, what a book!

I suspect people either love or hate this (judging by the Amazon reviews, which, by the way, I advise you not to read, unless you want the worst kind of hateful spoilers). Some people found the narrator, Pearlie, unbelievable, and I suppose if you feel that way you won't be able to buy a word of what she says. But I found her story lovely and quite believable because people are strange creatures, and that is, ultimately, what this book is about. "We think we know the ones we love," the book opens, and is repeated throughout. It reads a bit like a poem, at times, with the feel of a short story, but I mean both of those things in the best of ways. It is beautifully written and the story is perfectly told and I found myself to able to imagine everything clearly and precisely.

So thank you, Jenn, for the great little book.

Book Seven: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 23:50:00 +0000

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, Mary Anne Shaffer and Annie Barrows

I'm trying to figure out what it is about books that makes you accept and love everything about them even when you know they aren't great books. You know that they might be trite or overdone or not even well written, and yet you let them into your heart regardless. And then what about those books where you don't get that at all? Where you never really click and so their charms are useless on you. Is it just what your frame of mind happens to be at the moment you start reading? Or weird preconceptions you have about the book?

This highly popular book is 100% preciousness. And yet I think I needed a huge dose of preciousness in my life right about now. This idealized Guernsey and its residents were exactly the kind of world I wanted to imagine, even though I am sure it is so very far from any actual truth.

Did anyone out there hate this book? Can you tell me, in a tangible way, why? Or did we all buy it, hook, line and sinker? A little part of me really did want to dislike this book, and yet I shut up that little voice pretty quickly and just set out to enjoy every single word from the get-go.

Book Six: The House at Sugar Beach

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 02:29:00 +0000

The House at Sugar Beach, Helene Cooper

I'm not really the biggest fan of memoirs. I find them a bit, "And then this happened, and then I did this, and this person is so-and-so, and that person is so-and-so, and I did that, and she did that," et cetera et cetera. You know, lots of tell, not enough show. Of course, there are exceptions to this rule (for example the thoroughly awesome The Tender Bar or the very funny Kick Me), but I usually don't gravitate toward this genre for those reasons.

This one was pretty good, though, but ultimately, for me, still fell into the usual memoir trappings. I learned some things about Liberia that I previously wasn't aware of, I found her writing pretty decent and, at some moments, compelling, and I was even surprised by finding my eyes welling up with tears near the end of the story. But I have this sneaking suspicion that in a few months I probably won't really remember much about this. Not because Helene Cooper's story isn't interesting or tragic or that I don't care about the plight of the Liberian people, but because the telling of it didn't grab me and hold me tight and carry me through the story. Perhaps I'm history's greatest monster for feeling this way about this book, but eh, I'm willing to take that chance if it means demanding great writing at all times.

Book Five: The True Deceiver

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 06:49:00 +0000

The True Deceiver, Tove Jansson

If someone found some lost crate containing 52 previously unpublished books by Tove Jansson, I would put all other books aside and just read her words for a year solid. She creates worlds that I want to inhabit. Even when they are as bleak and cold as the one in The True Deceiver. Where The Summer Book captured the innocence and sweetness of childhood, The True Deceiver is more about the lies and suspicions and conflicts of adulthood. It feels so very allegorical without losing its sense of real characters and real situations or sacrificing the integrity of the story's inhabitants with a trite ending meant to teach us something simple and true. The two women who make up the central conflict--Katri and Anna--feel so very real it's easy to imagine them in your world. But the story is about something bigger, too, and that's what makes it compelling. I'm not sure I can say much more without either A, ruining the plot or B, making it all sound completely ridiculous, so I'll just shut up and admire the beautiful cover some more (a Tove Jansson illustration, natch).

Book Four: Mormon Country

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 06:25:00 +0000

Mormon Country, Wallace Stegner

I love Mormons. Let me rephrase that, I am fascinated by Mormons. What a strange, and curious group of people. I mean, in general I probably summed up my feelings about Mormons and religion in general here, but this book discusses more tangible, day-to-day aspects of Mormonism. It isn't so much a history, as a collection of essays about the Mormons and gentiles that populate that particular large expanse of the West.

I also love Wallace Stegner. If anyone can write, he can. What I never knew about him is that he spent time growing up in Salt Lake City. A gentile among the Mormons. And what's clear from this book is that he has a clear respect for Mormons and their culture. The essays in here cover everything from the United Order to polygamy to the strength of Mormon communities to the lost Deseret Alphabet to the various industries in the area and more. All told simply but beautifully, personally but knowledgeably.

I honestly do share a lot of Stegner's admiration for Mormons. I find it so amazing that a group can be so united together and constantly work so hard toward collective goals. Since they first settled Salt Lake--actually, since they made their way across the horribly desolate expanse of the midwest in order to settle in Utah--they have been a consistently united group. Hence the Deseret analogy: the honeybees working for the good of the hive. But what I wonder is, can you have that kind of togetherness is you are not united against something else? Meaning, it's us vs. them? Because the "them" in Mormonism seems to be anyone who is remotely different from the straight, white, God-believing norm. I really do wish I had any inclination to believe in god, because I am quite envious of people who have a group that they can depend on, who support them. I just wish there didn't have to be a cuckoo nutso* religion behind it.

*Again, I am not singling Mormons out with the cuckoo nutso thing. I am including all religions here. All of you! I love you all, but find you all equally crazy!

Book Three: Evil at Heart

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 07:50:00 +0000

Evil at Heart , Chelsea Cain

I know, I know! I can't believe I persist in reading these either. I think this may be the end of my serial killer/thriller/mystery kick for a while. I need to feel like an intelligent human being, one who consumes more than just stories about sexy serial killers, body mutilation, blood, more blood, heads and eyeballs not where they should be, kinky sex and the like.

In terms of where this one falls in the Gretchen Lowell trilogy so far, I'd say it's a bit better than the second, not quite as good as the first. But isn't that always how it is?

Book Two: Sweetheart

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sun, 10 Jan 2010 05:51:00 +0000

Sweetheart , Chelsea Cain

This book, on the other hand, makes no illusions about being literary. This is pure guilty pleasure reading. At least, with these Gretchen Lowell thrillers, I can vividly picture the setting in beautiful Portland, and Chelsea Cain does a lovely job of capturing the city and imaging its inhabitants. But wow, such gore and violence and disturbing sex. Not for the faint of heart.

But that's obviously not going to stop me from reading the next one.

Book One: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sun, 10 Jan 2010 05:40:00 +0000

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Stieg Larsson

So, seven books short of my goal isn't too shabby. Worse than last year but better than the year before. I think I'm learning that the secret is not to expect to catch up in December. Seriously, I will never be able to read more than a handful of books in December. But, onward and upward! No more looking back at the past! It's a new year and a new goal! Whee!

And now watch as I fill my reading list with mysteries and thrillers. I'm a glutton, what can I say? But this one, this one is really great! All the hype is true, I assure you. It's amazingly well-written, thoughtfully plotted (even in those first 50 pages when you're wondering, "Where is this going?"), and has loads of good stuff to propel you forward on every page. Sure, it has its share of gratuitous violence (including some icky violence against women--brace yourself), but I think it ultimately defies a lot of the cliches of the genre and becomes something more. Really looking forward to reading the next in the series.

Book Fortyfive: God's Spy

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 00:09:00 +0000

God's Spy, Juan Gómez-Jurado

What a slog. Everything about this book was difficult, from the preposterous plot to the cardboard characters to, worst of all, the stilted dialog. I'm going to guess that most of that blame lies on the shoulder of the translator. Either he has no idea how English is spoken or the poor fool had no choice but to translate some of the worst and weirdest dialog ever. My favorite bit comes when the two main characters (who are adults, mind you) show up at a delivery driver's house in the middle of the night to ask him some questions. "'I'm Ispettore Paola Dicanti and this is Padre Fowler. Don't stress out; you're not in any trouble and nothing has happened to anyone in your family. We just want to ask you a few urgent questions.'"

What the what?! Does anyone besides thirteen-year-olds actually tell people not to "stress out"?

But then, maybe I wasn't the prime audience for this book. I take it Mr. Gómez-Jurado was attempting to capitalize on the success of The Da Vinci Code and the whole Catholic church, conspiracy theory, hypocritical-men-of-the-cloth type of thing. Also, while there have been some thrillers that I have enjoyed, it takes much more for me to sit through that kind of grizzly murder shit without a good payoff in the end.

Book Fortyfour: Garnethill

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 06:30:00 +0000

Garnethill, Denise Mina

Gosh, this was a great mystery and a great thriller. At every turn you're thinking, "He did it! She did it! Everyone did it!" but not in a contrived sort of way. The story is set in a Glasgow that, like pretty much every character, is bleak and flawed. Maureen is our protagonist and the story feels so much about her that I kept thinking it was told in first person. And every time I picked it up again I was surprised it was third person. She is freshly released from a mental institution, after suffering a breakdown when she remembers that her father abused and molested her as a child. And she is dating a married man who is a therapist (but not her therapist, we are constantly reminded because that would be wrong, right?), who she discovers in her flat dead with his head nearly cut clean off (unfortunately the day after she discovers that he is married). Obviously, everyone thinks she did it, so she feels compelled to do her own research into the case to clear her name and possibly discover who offed her boyfriend. And there's so much more to this story, really, the amount of craziness and coverups and seediness is out of control. So, so good.

Book Fortythree: Kidnapped

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 07:25:00 +0000

Kidnapped, Robert Louis Stevenson

Sometimes I think there might be 12-year-old boy inside me (and no, not like that! Get your mind out of the gutter.) What I mean is, this kind of story feels totally made for me: adventure, sword fights, pursuit, the high seas, rebel uprisings. Just like in his other, only slightly better, book, Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson gives us a young hero who is suddenly thrust into some kind of marvelous adventure. This time, David Balfour is our protagonist, and after he is orphaned his miserly uncle sells him off to an unscrupulous sea captain to be a slave. But the real story starts when he meets Jacobite rebel Alan Breck and they take off across the Scottish moors running for their lives. Yes, I just said Jacobite. Not only is this a great story, but it's also a history lesson!

In essence this is a story about friendship and being true not just to yourself and your cause, but to those you love. So it's really a rough-and-tumble adventure with a heart of gold. Also, the intro to the Puffin Classics edition is written by my literary boyfriend, Alexander McCall Smith. Sadly, it's a bit of a letdown (apparently he thinks all kids are complete morons), but I'll give him a pass on this one. He still has my heart for loving Robert Louis Stevenson and wanting kids to love him just as much as he does.

Book Fortytwo: Blankets

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 02:26:00 +0000

Blankets , Craig Thompson

It feels so much more founded to call a graphic novel beautiful than a regular novel, doesn't it? I mean, it's not just the story, but the pictures, too. Well, I loved this and thought it was, indeed, beautiful. I like stories that capture the sweetness and naiveté of young love. I used to hate earnestness, and now, when the story is told just right, I find it charming and perfect (maybe because I was too close to it then, but now that I have some distance I can look back on it and laugh a little). I suppose I am also drawn to stories that center around people's relationship with god and religion, an idea that fascinates me. Who are these people who believe in god and why do they? I think that's nicely addressed here.

Also, you can't beat all that snow.

Book Fortyone: I See You Everywhere

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 01:10:00 +0000

I See You Everywhere, Julia Glass

It seems as if the new criticism of contemporary fiction is that people just don't like the main characters (especially of female characters, have you noticed?). I know, because I, too, have been guilty of this. But is this really a fair critique? Must you love everyone you read about? I think you could definitely say that about I See You Everywhere. Neither of two sisters, who alternately tell their stories over a period of thirty years, is really very likable. Meaning, you might not want to spend a lot of time with them. But, did it make for a good book? I think so. I suppose I was after a good, solid, contemporary novel (you know, with a story and characters) and this is exactly what I got. There are surprises and some emotionally heavy stuff, but I'm not going to spoil it for you.

In summation: not quite as good as Three Junes but better than The Whole World Over.

Book Forty: Mind's Eye

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 02:03:00 +0000

Mind's Eye, Håkan Nesser

Don't you think it's so obnoxious when people say that they figured out who did it in a mystery right away and that the story was really predictable?

You do? Oh, okay, never mind.

Book Thirtynine: Poem Strip

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 01:57:00 +0000

Poem Strip, Dino Buzzati

Oh NYRB, you already had my heart, but then you go and publish a graphic novel? Swoon.

While the drawings were beautiful (I saw glimpses of the Hernandez brothers in there), the story was a bit... loose. Not bad, just totally bizarre and at times, difficult to follow. I got the gist of the Orpheus and Eurydice story and then it got so poetic that, well, sometimes I like my stories to be more like stories. But whatever. I'm still super happy and found much strange loveliness in there.

Book Thirtyeight: Dead Until Dark

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 20:40:00 +0000

Dead Until Dark, Charlaine Harris

Ugh, ugh, and ugh. You know how the Twilight books are bad, but bad in the most wonderfully entertaining way? Well, this book is just plain bad. Nothing entertaining about it. In fact, the writing is downright dull. I think from now on I will just stick to watching True Blood. As bad as that is, at least it allows me to moon over Alexander Skarsgård.

Book Thirtyseven: Dracula

noreply@blogger.com (arajane) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 02:49:00 +0000

Dracula, Bram Stoker

I may have to go back and revise my review of Fangland, since I now understand just how heavily it borrows from Bram Stoker's Dracula. I mean, really, the entire first half of the book--the only part I thought was scary and good--is more or less copied entirely from Dracula, with a few minor updates. Now, I don't mind a bit of referencing, especially when done well and for a reason, but not when the only thing you add to it is complete and utter senselessness.

Ok, now I can talk about Dracula, which, I'm happy to say, I finally finished on Halloween. I think this took me so long to read because, while the book started with a bang, drew me in, and flew by, the middle was horribly drawn out and--dare I say?--kind of boring. The whole deal with Lucy: She's better! She's worse! She's better! She's worse! Oh boy. I could hardly keep my eyes open for the middle 100 pages or so. But then the last 150 picked up again and were frightening and suspenseful and amazing. I'm not going to go so far as to say that the boring bits ruined the book or made me dislike it--far from it! I just want to be fair about a book that is considered a classic. Still, everyone should read this. It's quite beautiful, wonderfully constructed, and creepy creepy creepy.

And now, even more appropriately, I am about to kick back and watch the Francis Ford Coppola version of the movie. That is, once the trick-r-treaters start to die down and I can watch uninterrupted.

Happy Halloween!