Feb

27

Reading So Far

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I am having to deal with the fact that my reading seems to be deteriorating from year to year.  In 2008 I read nearly 12 books a month.  In 2009 I read more than 9 books a month.  In 2010 so far, I am squeaking by with 8 a month.  I’ll have to increase my numbers if I want to hit 100 this year.  Still, I am pretty pleased with my tally thus far.  I am being less patient with books that aren’t great so that when I look back at my list I can actually remember everything I read, which is saying something.

Thus far the tally looks like this:

I think I’d be doing better if I wasn’t reading so many fat books.  Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel is just sitting there in all its gigantic-ness, taking forever, and keeping me from other things.  Just like The Quincunx was before it.  And The Children’s Hour before that.  Perhaps my reading these days isn’t complete without a historical novel doorstop.

Because my Tournament reading list is the entire shortlist, I’ve tried to be very good about reading as many as possible.  I added several books that I didn’t initially plan on.  So far, with only 3 down, I’ve had uniformly good experiences, though I haven’t yet been knocked down and wowed.  Last year I had 3 that I really loved (The Northern Clemency, The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, and A Mercy) so far I don’t have a favorite in the fight.  The ones I’m in the middle of aren’t wowing me either, though I have to say that my favorite thus far is probably That Old Cape Magic by Richard Russo, which I am more than halfway through and which manages to be both delightful and depressing.  Hopefully it’ll stay that way.

In my non-Tournament reading, I was surprisingly underwhelmed with Zeitoun, which I heard great things about.  Perhaps I was expecting it to reach the heights of What is the What, which I adore fervently.  It didn’t.  And the first half of the book was significantly better than the second.  Still, I like Eggers’ new style, the blending of fiction and non-fiction.

Karin Slaughter’s new thriller was better than most of her old ones.  Louise Penny is a new rather quaint mystery writer I can keep track of.  And no more Stieg Larsson for me.  I just can’t take him anymore.  He bugs me.

Jan

27

Opinions and a Letter

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I have not yet mentioned the 2010 Tournament of Books because I had to wait until I wasn’t totally and completely humiliated.  When the short list came out a little while ago, I was sure I’d do well.  I felt like I’d had a good reading year, especially as far as 2009 published books went.  With The Children’s Book, Sag Harbor, The Little Stranger, and others, surely I would be in the clear.  But no.  Not one of them–some of the best books I read last year–made the short list.  All of them would have made excellent contenders, so I admit to being annoyed.

I can’t tell if the short list is weighted in favor of smaller books, as it often is.  Many of them I knew hardly anything about.  I know it’s good to get the little guy in there, but if you’re going to include the big guy, too, couldn’t we have gone with Sarah Waters over Richard Russo or Barbara Kingsolver?  And isn’t it like illegal to have a big book-club-ish book on there like The Help?

Anyway.  Now I can say I have officially read 1, yes count it, 1 book on the short list.  It is Logicomix: An Epic Search for Truth, which was the easiest one to try first.  At the library, #1 on the reserve list, and it’s a graphic novel, which makes for a quicker read, if a different one.  I used to read a lot more graphic novels than I do now, I would like to change that and this book reminded me why.  I liked Logicomix quite a lot.  The graphic novel format worked in some ways, in others it kept the story a bit more stilted than I would have liked.  The book is about logicians, and focuses on Bertrand Russell as the narrator through early 20th century progress in math and logic.

The illustrated format allows for a lot of help in explaining some of the stranger and more complicated issues, and when you do see just how technical and crazy the symbology is, their approach makes a lot of sense.  The other thing I thought they did well was their overall arc.  They actually show the authors explaining the story to their logic/math consultant, complete with explanations and debates on their themes and issues.  It really allows you to see things in a more thorough light, and lets the authors throw critiques at themselves before you can.

My one complaint was that the connection between logic and life is one of their overall ideas but gets little actual attention.  I wanted more connections in their arguments a lot of the time.  This may be because I teach a form of logic on a regular basis but have no formal training in it.  It’s also interesting looking back at these developments–the massive shift in thinking that occurs over the course of the story puts math and logic in their current position, which I found to be fairly rational and obvious even though it was very novel.  It makes me wonder how much of the changes have infiltrated into our daily thinking and how much of it is just my particular frame of mind.

The book did give me motivation to read my nonfiction book on the Enigma machines from WWII, which apparently was one of the first big applications of logic.

I have 1 more shortlist book on the Kindle waiting to be read, 3 on hold at the library, and 1 in paperback waiting to be read.  Beyond that, who’s to say.  There are some I’d like to read but would have to buy because they’re not at the library–the major flaw in a system that promotes books from smaller publishers.  And there are plenty I’m not really interested in.  I can say I’m not as interested in this year’s tournament as last year.  McCann and Mantel (I’m only #4 on the list for Mantel!!) are the two big heavyweights and I haven’t read either book yet so I’m not sure where I’ll fall.

In other reading news, I have run out of library books.  !!!!  This is particularly shocking because I had so very many only a little while ago.  I finally got to two that had been sitting around patiently waiting for me to finish The Quincunx.  First there was Bury Me Deep by Megan Abbott, a noir-ish book set in the 30’s and based loosely on a real incident.  The mystery blog I read had been singing its praises so regularly that I finally caved, even though it didn’t look like my style.  I did like it.  The plot was very old potboiler kind of stuff, a bit reminiscent of James M. Cain, but sexier and a bit looser in style.  I think I am going to try and find some of her older stuff, which seems to be in the same vein.

Then there was In the Drink by Kate Christensen.  If I were to write that book a letter, it would go something like this.

Dear In the Drink,

I do not remember where I saw Kate Christensen’s name, but I do remember that I picked you out of all her books as the one to read first.  I don’t know what I was thinking at the time because as I looked you over I realized that you contain almost every annoying book quality I hate.  You are set in New York in the 90’s, you follow a young apparently-smart-but-not-smart-enough-to-get-it-together 20-something, you involve a quirky job, you involve quirky characters, your protagonist is a drunk, the protagonist’s mother is a strict Freudian psychologist, etc.  I almost did not pick you up.  But then I ran out of books.  Lucky for you, Kate Christensen is a good writer if not my favorite in terms of plot or subject choices.  And often her wit felt like more than her narrator was capable of, but I will forgive her.  I made it through with only a few periods of annoyance, and it was actually a nice quick jaunt.  So thanks.  Though I’m not really sorry about anything I said about you.  Maybe I will read another one of her books.

Oh, and I am worried I am just not that interested in John Irving’s new book.  He is getting all literary on me in the early chapters and I am not sure I have the patience.  Also, I cannot find my copy of Zeitoun!  Tragedy!

Jan

20

Journey Ended

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Whenever I expect to get a lot of reading done, I inevitably get virtually no reading done.  Thus, my little trip with a few hours on planes and no baby led to very little reading progress.  Upon my return, however, I did finally finish The Quincunx.  I feel like I should put it in all caps because it is that much of an accomplishment.  Seven-hundred and eighty-one pages!  Not only is it a massive tome, it also requires a great deal of patience.  You don’t even find out what a “quincunx” is until like page 450.  The whole plot, which is far too twisty to be called just plain twisty, basically involves the same thing over and over again.  Young hero, having been betrayed, must fend for himself again, finds new friend, gets betrayed, repeat.  These cycles can last anywhere from 15 to 150 pages, but that’s pretty much it.  The number of characters involved is Tolstoy-esque and Palliser could give Dickens a serious run for his money had he been around back in the day of the serial.  I am still not exactly sure I understand everything that happened, but neither do I feel a serious need to sort it out.  The journey has ended.  Phew.

Obviously I didn’t dislike the book.  I spent over a month reading it.  But once it’s all done it loses a bit of its charm.  It was nice not knowing what was happening for those first several hundred pages.  The denouement is never as good, is it?

For now I am reading The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson.  I don’t know that I ever said anything last year when I read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.  Larsson is perfectly competent, and his plots can be quite good.  His style is just so drab.  If a character stops to pick up groceries, he’ll list every single thing they get, and not in a coy, winking Salinger-type way.  He gives you so much of these details that his books are probably the most “procedural” procedurals I’ve ever read.  Still, I don’t mind it so much.  I’d rather he have those flaws than go overboard in the opposite direction like so many thriller writers do.  Their plots are flimsy and their style tries far too hard to achieve something they never do.

I also realized the other night in bed that I never had my say about the sequel to Hunger Games, Catching Fire.  I was not a big fan.  This says more about me than the book.  The book follows a natural course, I even predicted how it would end when I was 25 pages in.  The problem is that my favorite part of HG was not the buildup, but the games themselves.  And the sequel makes the games mostly an afterthought and does not devote near enough time or energy to following them for me.  What does this mean?  It means I should just go back and read Battle Royale again because that’s what I really wanted out of HG in the first place.

Jan

6

Slow Start to the Year

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That last book post took a few weeks to write, and sadly, I added very little new stuff to it during that time.  I expected a big jump in December, but instead hit a slump.  Probably because I started yet another doorstop, The Quincunx, by Charles Palliser, which clocks in at just shy of 800 pages.  One of my holiday reads came just shy of making the list: In the Heart of the Canyon by Elisabeth Hyde was a contender for the Keep it Simple category, but I felt that the big climax just didn’t quite deliver.  We also listened to Cell in the car on our drive and found it way better than expected.  Normally I wouldn’t have given it much thought, but I am willing to listen to almost anything narrated by Campbell Scott.  I was thinking maybe I’d give another new-but-lesser King novel a shot, and have reserved the audiobook of Under the Dome at the library, and am now super excited since it’s read by Raul Esparza, who is very close to Campbell Scott in the men-I-love category.  (He gets bonus points because he sings.)

My first book of 2010 is kind of a cheat.  It is Rabbit, Redux which I just went and finished already because the book is overdue and I was halfway through and it seemed a shame to ditch it now.  But I only read half of it in 2010, so I feel a bit like it’s not fair.  Oh well.  I am wondering where Updike will take the series now, since Redux felt, in many ways, like it was so similarly structured to Run, just with everything turned on its head.  (Even down to the final chapter following Janice instead of Rabbit.) I don’t know when I will have another book to add to this year’s list.  I have dumped three in a row within the first 20 pages.  I will keep chugging away at Quincunx (Doesn’t it sound like something from Harry Potter?  Is it something from Harry Potter?) and I will try and find time to get started on a Christmas gift, Zeitoun by Dave Eggers, which I’m super pumped about.  Plus John Irving’s new novel just came in at the library, so if it’s not horrible that may make the list, too.  Fortunately, we’re taking a trip next week and I may get Eric to put a few books on the kindle for me.  (Otherwise I will never get to The Girl Who Played With Fire.)

I did not bother to make a best-movie list this year because we didn’t see enough to compile a proper list.  My improper list would be:

  1. Inglourious Basterds
  2. The Hurt Locker
  3. Moon
  4. Up in the Air
  5. Up

Those 5 are the movies I loved.  Then there are honorable mentions for Coraline, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, Duplicity, Watchmen, and Drag Me to Hell, movies I liked.  The sad thing is, that means every other movie I saw I neither loved nor liked enough to mention.   And I saw many more than that, most of this year’s viewing was not worth viewing.  Had I not been pregnant and able to find comfort only in a nice cool movie theater, I probably wouldn’t have seen what I did.  And all the good stuff came out when I was homebound with the baby.  I suppose it just means this year’s Netflix viewing will be good.  (It already is, actually.  Humpday was my first Netflix of the year, an ‘09 flick, and quite good.  Shortly followed by Paper Moon.)

Jan

5

Best Books of 2009

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I have decided to organize my list a little differently this year.  Usually I separate by publication date or genre with rankings, but this year I’m just going to have a loose list with different books grouped together for one reason or another.

Mysteries & Thrillers

The two that stick out the most were Black Water Rising by Attica Locke and Bad Things Happen by Harry Dolan.  I read them around the same time, and I don’t know that they have much in common (the second is a nice spin on noir, the first is best compared to early Grisham) but they both were some of the best I’ve read in ages.  And amazingly both are first novels.  I really look forward to seeing more.

I am not much of a series reader, but I did find a new series I loved.  Garry Disher, an Australian writer, writes some of the best straightforward procedurals I’ve ever written.  Beginning with The Dragon Man, I also read Kittyhawk Down and Chain of Evidence, the only ones my library has copies of.  You actually feel like you’re seeing real police work in these books, which is one of the reasons I love them so much.  The cops in the books are good and bad, have distinctive characteristics that continue from one book to another.  There is just something about Disher’s books that feels so different from the American police books which feel this constant need to be big and over-the-top, to be lazy with accuracy and real-life detail, instead focusing on brutality and shock-value.

My other favorites of the year were a new author and a well-established one.  Josh Bazell’s Beat the Reaper was insane, and I mean that as a compliment.  I usually avoid books with mob themes, they tend to be overly complicated and annoying.  But Bazell’s former-mobster-turned-med-student was great.  It had the most unexpected highs and lows, and for a genre that tends to just repeat the same stories over and over, that’s a great compliment.

Laura Lippman is one of the US’s best mystery writers and her new book, Life Sentences, was a little different.  I’m not even sure if it technically falls into this genre, because the real mystery here is the reconciliation of your own memories with those of others.  Lippman’s heroine wrote a book drawing on her own past and is surprised to find all those old friends see it as terribly inaccurate.  Her journey through her own past is one of the more mature things Lippman has written, relying not so much on plot twists as strong characters.

Post-Victorian Doorstops

I am particularly fond of late Victorian novels.  They seem concerned with bigger ideas than their overly melodramatic Victorian predecessors.  I’m not sure that The Forsyte Saga is technically late Victorian, I think it may have been written too late, but it shares much of the same spirit.  There’s a preoccupation with property and the deterioration of class boundaries and a confusion as to what it all means.  It may not have the style of a mid- to late-20th century novel, the style we now consider normal, but I liked the mix of old and new.

The Children’s Book is set in early 20th century Britain even though it was published this year.  A. S. Byatt may have a bit too much of the pre-Victorian novelist’s desire to ramble on about things the reader is not particularly interested in, but I’ll forgive her.  I also forgive the book’s considerable flaws because it had me more riveted for more days in a row than any book I can think of this year.

Nonfiction

I read some nonfiction this year, believe it or not.  And I must say I did very well for myself.  Nearly all of it was worthy of the end of the year list.

The first that must be mentioned is Volume 2 of Norman Sherry’s Life of Graham Greene.  I have yet to read Volume 3 (that thing is impossible to track down even though it’s the most recent), but it will be very hard to outshine the second volume and all its excitement.  Talk about a life that has everything.  In the same kitchen-sink category is the gangster tome Public Enemies by Bryan Burrough, which teaches you a lot about how federal law enforcement got started.  It also reminds you that criminals are a lot smarter these days, even if they’re not as famous as someone like Pretty Boy Floyd.

Also in the crime genre was And the Sea Will Tell by Vincent Bugliosi.  I got it on purpose because I wanted to duplicate the experience of reading Helter Skelter, also by Bugliosi, and the greatest true crime book ever.  It wasn’t as good, but Bugliosi does a lot with the story and it has its share of crazy twists and turns.  It’s interesting to see him now on the side of the defense.

I read two Sarah Vowell books this year and I feel bad for not reading them earlier.  I started the year with Assassination Vacation, but I really think I preferred The Wordy Shipmates.  Mostly, I found the latter to really give you food for thought instead of just a bunch of interesting but little-known trivia.  Our puritan background continues to shape the way we think of ourselves as a country and Vowell really opens you up to the history and the legacy.

Gothic Novels

I went on a rather length gothic kick this year, though the books were surprisingly varied in tone and style.  Two that stuck out were The Seance by John Harwood, which I thought was a good throwback, and The Observations by Jane Harris, which was narrated by a cheeky servant girl who adds some pep.

The best of the lot should be no surprise to anyone who’s keeping up with end-of-the-year lists.  I was probably too hard on The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters when I first read it.  I have read everything she’s written and The Night Watch has just secured its place as one of my favorite novels ever.  She had a lot to live up to and I had expectations.  The Little Stranger is excellent, but totally unlike anything she’s done before.  The longer I let it settle the more I realize how amazing it is and I’m looking forward to reading it again to enjoy it more fully.

Craziness

I always like a book that throws you for a loop and two of my very favorites this year did just that.  Sombrero Fallout by Richard Brautigan was absolutely nutty, reminiscent of Vonnegut mostly because there’s no one else even remotely close to compare him to.  There is something lovely about reading something so absolutely different.  I would like to read more Brautigan, and I’m honestly wondering why I’d never heard of him until now, especially with all the love for Vonnegut these days.

It is difficult to choose just one book to be a favorite, but if I had to I would probably pick The Witches of Eastwick by John Updike, which was so joyous and nasty and fun that I was always excited to start reading it again.  I think it helped that it was not at all what I expected to get from Updike, or any late 20th century famous old white guy writer, for that matter.

Life is Melodrama (Or TNC)

These next two books go strangely well together, like sweet and sour.  Both The Northern Clemency by Philip Hensher and The New City by Stephen Amidon have the same abbreviation (TNC) but seemingly little else in common at first glance.  But when you look longer they actually go well together.  Both are period pieces, in fact, they’re set at about the same time, though Hensher follows his characters through later years and Amidon contains his time period.  While they’re set in different countries, they both have a similar feeling: they’re exploring a time period, they’re finding the melodrama in the everyday.  Both feel as though they’re building to something big.  Amidon sees it through to a crazy climax, Hensher’s climax never appears and is the book’s major flaw.  But both are fabulous to read, for sure.

Keep it Simple

Sometimes all you want is lovely writing about the everyday and these three books qualify.  Sag Harbor was one of the very high highlights of the year, with Colson Whitehead moving away from his high-concept novels, into the nostalgic summer-coming-of-age genre.  But he does it so smoothly and beautifully, still bringing in his characteristic themes and knack for language that I hope he does it more often.

Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth was the only book of stories I read this year, in large part because she wrote them.  She gives just what you’d expect if you’ve read Interpreter of Maladies.  Lovely, simple stories about family and culture.

Stewart O’Nan’s new book Songs for the Missing is one I didn’t hurry up for.  I like him as a writer but wasn’t sure I wanted the subject matter.  But he made it work.  The plot isn’t of the everyday–a family copes with the sudden disappearance of their teenage daughter–but the book itself is.  Her disappearance starts things off and then the book follows the family as it tries to figure out how to function day-to-day.  I still can’t decide if O’Nan’s hesitancy to have the family dwell on wondering what could have happened is a bad or good thing.  It could have dragged the book down, but I often found myself wondering how they weren’t playing out every horrific scenario all the time.  I think I’m content with his decision, I’m certainly happy with the book.

Classics in The West Indies

It’s probably a little shameful that it took me so long to read Wide Sargasso Sea, I’ve known of it since high school, but I think it’s good every now and then to stumble upon the kind of book that would be great classroom fodder so you can have a nice long think.  This is certainly one of them.

Set in Haiti,  I was a big fan of Graham Greene’s The Comedians, the only book of his I read this year.  Conceptually, it’s probably most similar to The Quiet American, following a Brit into a politically dangerous country where he makes a strange home and watches everything fall apart around him.  There’s a lot to chew on here, too (it would make an interesting double-feature with Junot Diaz’s Oscar Wao, with the Haitian and Dominican stories feeling oddly similar) and I think people put too much into Greene sometimes.  I don’t think a set of American characters is supposed to represent America completely, just as Pyle doesn’t in TQA.  But it certainly does give him a chance to poke a bit of fun.

The Remainder: Honorable Mentions

Transmission by Hari Kunzru.  One of the best internet-age novels yet.

The Dead Father’s Club by Matt Haig.  An interesting YA play on Hamlet.

The Intuitionist by Colson Whitehead.  My 2nd favorite Whitehead novel, set in a bizarre world of elevators.

Dec

13

It Must Be Said

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I haven’t talked about Glee yet because I haven’t known what to say.  I still don’t and I’ve watched 13 episodes.  (Whereas I could wax eloquent on The Shield for days.  Then again, I’m on Season 7 of that one.  Seriously, how do they make a character totally despicable but then when someone tries to expose him you recoil?  I am in awe.)

The one thing I can say for certain about Glee is that it is tragically inconsistent.  The best episodes (which, in my opinion, are pretty much the first and the last) manage to be light and dark, both bluntly joyful and sharply witty.  The others (all the ones in the middle, except for maybe the one where Kurt does Beyonce) tend to be overly sappy or have terrible musical numbers or have out-of-nowhere plots or have weird humor that doesn’t seem to hit its mark.  The character development is way way spotty–what do we know about Mr. Shue except that he’s a nice guy?–and tends to change when it’s convenient–every episode, Rachel has some new trait which completely defines her.

But all of that could be saved if the music was just good.  Or if it remotely resembled anything a show choir has ever done.  I have just decided that in the universe Glee is set in, choir is not “choir,” but a series of solos with a massive group of backup singers.  The songs are overproduced–they should fire their music producer–and often they pick really really horrible songs.  (Can you be more *yawn* than having a pregnant girl sing Papa, Don’t Preach?  It doesn’t matter if it’s a stripped down acoustic version.)  If the music was interesting, if they had cool arrangements, if they did something besides their endless mashups–who thinks they’re interesting, they’re just weird–if they decided to really showcase their talent it would be better.  I would love to hear Lea Michele actually sing more often instead of hearing it sound like she’s coming through an electronic filter.  And it would be nice to mix it up a little bit with the other cast members, who can obviously hold their own.

The highlights are so easy to pick out that the problems become more obvious.  The very best song they did all season was Artie’s Dancing With Myself.  It was sweet and bouncy, totally different than the Billy Idol original, which is brash and crass.  I loved seeing a song I knew in a really new and unexpectedly perfect way.  It made me wonder why they don’t do that more often.  Or why they don’t just simplify things, like the Don’t Stop Believing number from the pilot, which heaves with energy.  Sometimes they get things half right–the choreography for Proud Mary was awesome, the song was meh; Don’t Rain on My Parade was glorious, but missed the rest of the ensemble (but I will be downloading that track, I am so looking forward to seeing with it at the top of my lungs).  (Update: maybe Glee is more nefarious than I thought.  Having downloaded only 3 of the many tracks available, the first time I played them I was in a car accident mid-song.  Perhaps I should be nicer?)

Still, despite my myriad of complaints about Glee I continue to watch and I continue to be happy it’s on.  Because television is far too unforgiving of niche-y stuff and there are so many niches out there.  It’s true that Glee appeals to the same people who have seen Wicked 8 times (I haven’t seen it once, I find the songs to be mostly mediocre and that’s a fatal flaw for a musical that no longer has Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth currently starring in it) and maybe my tastes are not the same as theirs, but I get it.  I was a choir geek, I listen to show tunes, I know what’s playing on Broadway pretty much all the time (which is why I know who Lea Michele is, I have listened to Spring Awakening probably a million times) and I would rather people watch Glee than American Idol or the insane number of dance shows whose names shall not be mentioned.

As for the state of tv these days, at least there is one absolutely snappy new show: Modern Family is perhaps the best new sitcom I’ve seen since… I don’t actually know because sitcoms are not this good.  I don’t think I’ve enjoyed one this much this consistently since Arrested Development.  Its cutesy family image totally belies its wit, which is probably smart since AD did get canceled and all.

I am sad Mad Men is over, though I found Season 3 to be spotty.  The main flaw: Betty Draper.  She is boring.  And this season was mostly about her.  (And what was up with Don’s new and pointless affair?)  There was a shameful absence of Peggy and Pete and Harry and actual advertising.  The advertising is my favorite part of the show.  There were still high points, though.  The last episode was great–yay Joan is back!  And I was a big fan of the infamous lawnmower episode.  It was nuts but it worked.  The Kennedy assassination ep, though, was perhaps their worst.  It was good in the bare bones, but it was so saturated with footage that it was distracting and annoying.  Just give me more Peggy next season, please, and Joan should be in every episode according to her contract.

Dexter has been pretty dull, hard to believe it’s the same show as the first two seasons which were just plain manic in tone and nutty with plot twists.  House is boring me, it doesn’t help that they keep killing off the characters I like.  This needs to change.  They need to start killing off the ones I dislike… which is almost everyone left.  Definitely start with Foreman and 13.  Community is funny enough, though it should be funnier.  Mostly I chuckle, I don’t laugh enough.  30Rock has just barely started back up so I cannot judge yet, but I have enjoyed it thus far.  There is something comforting about it being on and knowing it will be so smartly written.  I am oh so excited for Lost and Big Love to come back.  IMDb tells me that Damages will be back in January–AND it will now have Campbell Scott as a regular.  If I were not married and it were legal to marry a tv show, I would marry you, Damages.  I have always liked Glenn Close, but now I lurrrrv her.  And you make Rose Byrne tolerable.  And you have Tate Donovan, who is one of my favorite rumpled-getting-older hunks.  And you had that guy from Deadwood who was so criminally underused for their last couple seasons.  And you had William Hurt and Marcia Gay Harden and I think Ted Danson is back this season.  Seriously, could I love you anymore, Damages?  No, I do not think I could.  You are beautiful.  You must tide me over until Breaking Bad comes back in March.

Meanwhile, I will finish Season 7 of The Shield, which I now feel really bad for not watching when it was on.  I realized the other day that there is yet another way it is superior to The Wire: it has women.  The Shield has 3 main characters who are women and has brought in others as well.  (Like the awesome Glenn Close and the latina chick from Defying Gravity, who’s been on for a few seasons now.)  They are good characters, they are interesting.  They are often more interesting than the men.  And they have episodes written by women–unlike the male-infested writers of The Wire.  They actually serve a purpose other than being eye candy or wives who never do anything but complain.  (Okay, maybe Vic’s wife did that a little the first couple seasons, but it gets better.)

I know all this makes it sound like I watch too much television, but it doesn’t really add up to much since shows have such short seasons on cable and such long breaks between seasons.  You pretty much get a slow trickle throughout the week with occasional spurts now and then.  (This depends mostly on which reality tv shows are on that I actually watch.  It is a small percentage, and most of them sucked this year.  Can we talk about how totally mean the Top Chef finale was?  Make us the meal of your life, oh except you only get to pick one of the 4 courses.  Nice.  And it was a snooze-fest on The Amazing Race this year, it’s great that a nice team won, but wow they are just the blandest bunch ever.  I guess I really do miss all the obnoxious teams they used to have on despite the fact that I complain about them constantly when they’re on.)

All this is a bit moot now, since the holidays mean a bunch of repeats.  So expect a book-heavy post to follow.

Dec

6

Abandon Ship

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The idea of “Abandon Ship” is one I preach better than I practice.  I often talk to my LSAT students about it, and how sometimes the cost of spending time on a question far outweighs the benefit that question can provide to your score.  (Especially if you end up getting the question wrong, in which case the benefit is zero.)

Hypothetically this would be a good strategy to apply to books.  I have a limited amount I get to read each year (though it’s still a pretty significant number).  And I’d rather read good books than bad ones.  This year in particular I’ve read several books I haven’t really liked.  Even though I will have read almost as many books as last year, my end of year list this year will be somewhat sparse, whereas last year I had to make like 4 different lists to contain all the awesomeness.

With all that said, I still have a very hard time abandoning books.  It rarely happens.  Even if it is bad.  Sometimes there is an excuse.  Like with Pat Conroy’s new book, he is an author I enjoy so I’m more likely to give him more and more chances.  (Even if he completely squanders them so that now if his next book is not good I will be out very early.)  Or if I suspect that something is going to happen at the end that will make it all make sense.  (Like that behemoth The Children’s Hospital, which should have had that kind of ending, but instead went with the deus ex machina kind of thing that I really hate.)  But more often there is no good reason to keep going, yet I do anyway.

I recently compromised.  And I think this may be my new thing, especially with thrillers.  I like thrillers and mysteries, but it’s particularly hard to put them down because the end is kind of the whole point.  I was reading Jennifer McMahon’s new book, Dismantled.  It was recommended by someone whose books I like, though I have to admit that my tastes vary widely when it comes to taste in books.  (This is the case with many authors.  Dismantled is blurbed by Stewart O’Nan, who is the last person on earth I would have suspected.  He writes lovely, spare, books about people whose lives feel real.  Why is he blurbing this really lame thriller?)

I knew I’d read McMahon’s first book and disliked it.  It was compared to The Secret History, my very favorite book.  I will read pretty much anything if it is compared to The Secret History.  Unfortunately, nothing lives up to the comparison, but I try anyway.  I had forgotten that I’d read McMahon’s second book until I saw it on my list from last year.  Then I remembered that I hadn’t liked it either.  I was about 50 pages into Dismantled and wasn’t liking it so something needed to be done.

Because it is so very hard to abandon mystery/thriller types, I took the middle ground.  I skimmed it.  I flipped pages through the rest of the book, occasionally stopping to read half a scene.  I finished it in less than half an hour, and wow, it was not good.  I was seriously annoyed at how not good it was and I was barely reading it.  (Seriously, I should know better than to read books with a slight supernatural bent.  They annoy me.  Even when done well, a la The Little Stranger, it is hard for me to set aside my rationality and just acknowledge that something may be unexplainable.  I demand explanations!  Agatha Christie at least gives them to me.)  It was a good solution.  I was able to feel justified in my choice to not really read it.  Had it gotten good, I could have slowed down and started to read for real again.  And it will not go on my book list because I didn’t really read it so I don’t have to remind myself of its badness.  Except to remind myself that I do not like Jennifer McMahon and need to stop reading her books.  Self, please remember this.

I did finish my audiobook of Brave New World and I still firmly believe that while it has some amazing ideas, in terms of working as a novel, well, it’s rather mediocre.  It’s like a movie or book where all the dialogue is clunky backstory.  Plus it does what I so dislike: it preaches at you directly.  I can happily now say that I do prefer 1984 and not just rely on my high school memory.

My new audiobook is the aforementioned Stewart O’Nan, Songs of the Missing.  And because it is Stewart O’Nan it is very likely that the missing girl will never be found and this is very likely to annoy me, even though it is the whole point.  Or at least, I assume it is.  It has yet to rise to Last Night at the Lobster, which I loved quite slavishly.  But if I don’t hold its subject matter against it, it is so nice to read O’Nan, who writes about small towns and suburbs without being condescending or quirky.  It is wonderful to read something that is not set in a big city and not populated by unbelievable characters.

I also have a small paperback of Up in the Air sitting in my purse which I will read while doing things like waiting in line.  I suspect it will be some time before I get to watch the movie and I’m pretty sure it will diverge enough that it won’t be bad that I just read it.  Plus, as a frequent–though not this frequent–traveler, it appeals to me.

I did just read Karin Fossum’s new book The Water’s Edge in one sitting.  It is not the best, but I did like it.  I am not sure which one is the best, though I was very fond of The Indian Bride.  I’d have to go back to the first one I read, Don’t Look Back to see if it’s better.  There was not much of Inspector Sejer in this book, it was very slim, but I do like the style of her mysteries far more than most other writers.  This one had a particularly neat little subplot that I found very intriguing.  For me, overall, Fossum is right up there with Kate Atkinson for writing really interesting mysteries.  No one else quite gets it the way they do.

Dec

1

Another Doorstop Down

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A big fat book can be a wonderful thing, whether in spite of its length or because of it.  I spent a couple weeks getting through The Children’s Book by A. S. Byatt.  At another time in my life I probably could have done it in a few days if I had nothing else to do, but it is hefty and not a one-sitting kind of thing.  The only other book of Byatt’s I read is Possession, and that was a long time ago, though I remember liking it.

TCB has a lot of things that I normally don’t like.  It’s historical (not a dealbreaker, but not necessarily a big plus), it’s full of long tangents getting into the happenings of the day, and it features cameos from famous figures of the time.  I understand that Oscar Wilde and Rupert Brooke feature into the social circles of the book, but I also can’t help feeling like an author has misappropriated them for their own purposes without their consent.  I was willing to forgive all these flaws because I got very quickly caught up in Byatt’s story.  I’ve read a lot of books set in turn-of-the-century Britain lately, and I’ve read a lot of authors from that time period, so that helped.  I was aware of the resurgence in children’s fiction (J. M. Barrie and the like) but hadn’t ever realized how broad it was, so that was also nice.

Byatt does what I like best in an author: she presents a story with several characters, where each are allowed their own point of view.  Because of the large number of characters in TCB, some do get shortchanged.  But those you get to know best do develop a strong inner life and get to interact with all sorts of other characters.

Unfortunately, as the book went on it became clear that Byatt was less concerned with the individual stories of her characters and more concerned with placing them into a larger historical context.  (Thus the repeated appearances of Brooke.)  The more the world started to invade their lives, the less interesting the book became.  It wasn’t at all surprising that it all came to a head at World War I, if anything it became so obvious that this would happen about halfway through the book that it was rather anticlimactic.  I still don’t quite know what to think about the ending.  It is all so quick and dirty.  And I can’t quite figure out how it fits into what Byatt is trying to say.  Did the War force the generation of children to grow up?  Or does it mean that they’d doomed their own children to become adults far too quickly?  And while an awful lot of characters died in those last few pages, many were ones we didn’t know well and the cumulative effect of all those deaths actually made it less affecting.

Still, for about half the book, I fervently adored it and if it all could have stayed like that I think it would become a new favorite.  I don’t know that I will read it again, but I do feel comfortable recommending it, especially to people who like historical novels.

I feel like all my reading got put on hold while I spent weeks trying to finish TCB.  I am still in the middle of Rabbit, Redux.  I have started The Lost City of Z, and should probably get back to it since I’m sure I can’t renew it.  I have just dived into This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper, and expect to be finished soon.  TIWILY is good.  It reminds me of The Corrections, except it’s funny and wry and raunchy and doesn’t take itself so seriously.  (These are all compliments.)  I am listening to Brave New World on audio, I realized it had been at least a decade since I’d read it and I could hardly remember anything about it, I think it is one of those books you need a decent memory of since it’s in a host of cultural references.  I also wanted to make sure that I like 1984 better.  You always have to pick one.  Thus far, my mind has not changed.  It is good, it is sometimes horrifyingly prescient.  But I think the use of the “savages” could have been a bit better.  Still, I think Huxley pulls you in pretty well, which is a big deal in this kind of fiction.

I am reaching the end of the year, which means I’ll have to put some thought into my best list.  I have a few specific ideas for my favorites, but I won’t be able to make the kind of extensive list I made last year.  It hasn’t been so bad, the highs have been quite high, but I have suffered through a few more books than I should have.  I need to learn to get out sooner.

As you’d expect for the parent of an infant, I am sadly behind on movies.  I would love to go see Fantastic Mr. Fox and Up in the Air and Precious and Nine (yes, please, Nine!) and Invictus and A Serious Man and Broken Embraces but most of these probably won’t come to pass since I have a baby who must be entertained and a husband who’s not particularly interested in any of these movies.  So it’s back to the DVD queue for me.  I have had When Father Was Away on Business and Farewell, My Concubine sitting at my house for at least two weeks so I haven’t been particularly good on that front either.

I did watch almost all of the 7Up films recently, though.  (35Up is not available on Netflix Watch Instantly, but all the others are.)  I found it very interesting, especially since your expectations were often totally overthrown from one film to the next.  I didn’t mind so much that it was an intrusion into the lives of its subjects (as today’s reality tv often is) because they were allowed to comment on whether the films were effective and what they thought themselves.  It’s unclear whether there will be a film to follow 49Up, and there certainly has been a lot less change from film to film recently.  But I think they should keep going, if only to keep viewers from assuming that life is boring after 50.

Nov

15

Too Many Books

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I have too many books.  This happens now and then, when library requests placed over the course of several months suddenly come together and all show up at once.  So the current quandary is what to read first.

I have already made significant headway through the Rabbit tetralogy–I am about halfway through Rabbit Redux, the second book.  This one took first priority simply because of its extreme length.  I am liking the Rabbit books much more than I thought I would, though it’s still within the realm of expectation.  I may respect Updike, but they’re not the kind of books I would buy and put on my bookshelf.  (Unlike Eastwick, which will likely find a place there should I happen upon an edition I like.)

Jumping to the front of the queue was Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby.  It was one I was looking forward to and it seemed very likely there were other people requesting it, which meant I wouldn’t be able to renew.  I finished it last night and find myself both pleased and disappointed.  It is vastly better than his last book, which I didn’t even get 50 pages into.  However, it is not up to his best.  It seems Mr. Hornby, who was for so long obsessed with the man-child approach to life, is now obsessed with the pangs of middle-age.  The latter has much less verve than the former.  The book was certainly an improvement, but there was just something missing.

I realized that I currently think of Nick Hornby much the way I think of John Irving.  Both wrote a book 15-20 years ago that is one of my very very favorites.  (High Fidelity and A Prayer for Owen Meany)  Both tend to stick to particular themes and characters.  Both seem to be losing it a bit as time passes.  And both have written a book that left me wondering if I would ever read them again.  (A Long Way Down and The Fourth Hand)  Both also have new books this year, and I’m still on the waiting list for Irving’s new one.  I doubt either of them will be able to go back to the heights they once had, but I still tend to root for them anyway.  Juliet, Naked is still a fun book to read, especially for people with an interest in music.  Unfortunately, that pretty much guarantees a comparison to High Fidelity, which has such a gripping obsession with music that the comparison is not a good one for Juliet.

The next book to step up is Jar City by Arnaldur Indridason, an Icelandic mystery.  It is due next week, though I’m not sure I’ll finish it by then.  Likely to be sitting for a bit are books by C. J. Box and James M. Cain (a rather strange pairing–a low-key Western mystery writer and a master of suspense) which I may not actually get to in all the commotion.  After my Icelandic book, it’s most likely I’ll dive into The Lost City of Z by David Grann, one of my few nonfiction efforts for the year.

My most recent library trip only complicated this list by adding the sequel to Hunger Games, Michael Chabon’s newest book of essays, and the new A. S. Byatt which was shortlisted for the Booker.  Currently on the way to the library are a quick and likely fluffy thriller I should be able to plow through and a new novel I don’t know much about with plenty of hold requests.  It is going to be a tough month.

Oct

20

I Am Sorry, John Updike

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I don’t think it’s that uncommon to be somewhat literary and have some built in prejudices against writers you’re not very familiar with.  Personally, I have never felt much love towards the big male late 20th century writers like Updike and Cheever and Mailer and such.  (I make an exception for Roth, whose great work makes up for his not-so-great work.)  I haven’t done much reading in this area due to my prejudice, and now I must apologize.

Because, John Updike, I just read The Witches of Eastwick, and it was incredible.  I have been unfair.  Not only is Witches incredible, it’s also a book about and involving women.  Few men even attempt that kind of book and even fewer succeed.  Beyond a few missteps (I have to assume a bit of vanity when he has a female character think something great about having sex with a much older man…) it really hit the spot.  And one thing I really loved about it was just how old school it was.  While written in the 80’s, it’s set in the 60’s, and the women are all quite young (early and late 30’s) but have several children and the way Updike writes about their bodies with such honesty was one of the book’s high points to me.  He manages to be captivated by them, but also allows them to look upon themselves critically.

It was also a refreshing change from the current trends in magical realism, which is getting to be really tired and overdone.  Updike just eases you into it slowly and makes it all fit really well with the characters and the plot.  Yes, they are witches, more than that, they are witches in a world where witchcraft is not unheard of.  Even better, Updike’s magical realism has an actual point.  (Oh, how many of today’s young writers need to learn this lesson.)  They are witches and they are ostracized; but they’re also divorced and working and not all that interested in wifely or motherly duties.  (Actually, their neglect for their children was one thing that seemed off to me.  Updike wants to praise and admire women’s ability to bear children, but then seems to want them to cast off the same children once they show up. )

Reading the book was a pleasure (or listening, in my case; it was a new-ish recording with a great reader).  It was well plotted and always interesting, even if it ended a bit abruptly.  I am almost a little curious to see the movie.  I expect it to be completely wrong.  But I admit, I knew when I read the book that Jack Nicholson was in it and while I like him I think he’s often miscast.  I doubt that’s the case here.  This is actually one time when he’s really perfect for the part, I could visualize him the whole way through.  On the other hand, the women seem awfully miscast–Cher as the matronly Lexa?  Susan Sarandon may have the snap to play Jane, but Sukie’s the redhead…  And Michelle Pfeiffer in there makes me think they see Sukie as nothing more than the “hot” one.  I certainly doubt any of them will have anything resembling the bodies Updike describes so well in his book.  It is a very sensual book, for sure, so much took of bodies and skin and features.

As for where to go from here, I am not sure if I should read Updike’s recent sequel, The Widows of Eastwick, which I heard wasn’t great, or his classic Rabbit books, which I see as not being really my thing.  I’m undecided.  I’ll probably wait a while anyway, since I have plenty of books on reserve these days as it is.  I am nearly at 100 books for the year, and I don’t think it’s possible to hit 141 like I did last year, but I think 120 is a reasonable goal.


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