better review to come, hopefully. just wanted to jot down my initial reactions. 2.5 stars.
i came to this not having kids nor ever having gone to therabetter review to come, hopefully. just wanted to jot down my initial reactions. 2.5 stars.
i came to this not having kids nor ever having gone to therapy, so this was a bit of a speculative experience for me. i still have opinions on the topics, of course.
the negatives: the author's frequently snide tone made this feel pretty unserious at times; her misunderstanding of how to use empathy and "unconditional positive regard" (she's apparently against both?) were pretty eyerolling; she quotes jordan peterson (for fuck's sake) saying some nonsense about how self-reflection always equals being depressed or anxious. and as the top review notes, this book seems to be written solely for upper-middle class parents.
all of that said, i basically agreed with nearly all of her thoughts on the negative impact pop-therapy culture has had, especially its effect on kids and parents, and on western society in general. i've certainly seen plenty of (bad) examples in my life. how on earth did the coolest, least-fazed generation - generation x - turn into the generation of karens and helicopter parents? so embarrassing.
anyway, if only shrier had sneered less, toned down the melodrama, and instead displayed more of the coolly composed, stoical but still compassionate distance that she herself espouses, this wouldn't have been a 2.5 star read. rounded up because she seems like a great parent and i loved all of her personal stories - they were very endearing....more
synopsis & moral if you are a timid American abroad in quaint rural England, looking to buy a home for you and your best friend, make sure not to blow synopsis & moral if you are a timid American abroad in quaint rural England, looking to buy a home for you and your best friend, make sure not to blow all of your combined savings by buying a grim, gothic priory with a bad reputation plus no electricity - especially if your best friend is a vindictive gaslighting psychopath. remember: safety first!
this was engaging and surprising. great cover too. I put a bit of a spoiler in that synopsis, in a no-doubt failed attempt to encourage people to read this bit of deeply buried treasure. because it deserves wider readership! it doesn't look as if Margaret Wasser wrote anything else, alas.
The Priory's twit of a protagonist gradually becomes more sympathetic. especially after her dreadful "best friend" comes to stay, nearly 80 pages in - the contrast between the two is striking. compared to her friend from back home, Lisa Stafford is an icon of transparency and relatability. it was no small feat for the author to eventually turn Lisa into an enjoyable character, because man oh man she was a trial to read about in the beginning. so many bad decisions! so mousy! and all of her absurd rationalizations! I really wanted to shake some sense into her. but, incredibly, she became someone I was really rooting for. a well-developed heroine, in a book full of well-developed characters.
Wasser's book has atmosphere to die for (literally). the not-so-jolly English village felt so real. same for the not-so-picturesque countryside. and that priory! or rather, the foreboding manse that sits next to the ruins of an ancient priory. the reader can easily imagine how this sinister, gloomy place feels, its drafty rooms, the odd layout, the giant subterranean kitchen and the outdated 'modern' kitchenette, the fireplaces, the strange door with 14 locks, the secret passage to a secret staircase to a secret tunnel leading to the riverside. I'd rent the place for sure. fun! but a bit hard to imagine actually living in this atmospheric dump
the book has a great ending that takes place during a raging storm, when the cold war between Lisa and her worst friend finally reaches a very hot boil and the knives come out (literally). in such situations, a loyal dog and a secret doorway to a secret passage to a secret staircase to a secret tunnel leading to the riverside can come in pretty handy.
the setting: windswept Irish coast, gloomy mansion surrounded by perilous bogs, angry villagers wrecking ships to stay alive. the plot has a fascinatithe setting: windswept Irish coast, gloomy mansion surrounded by perilous bogs, angry villagers wrecking ships to stay alive. the plot has a fascinating lady of the manor at its heart, the beautiful 'black Rosaleen', a villager who leveled up but is still a proud defender of her people, unafraid to get her hands pretty dirty if it helps the cause. unfortunately, despite the setting and a host of potentially interesting characters, the dialogue was insipid and fascinating Rosaleen was not the heroine of this book. the author is usually skilled at creating rich atmosphere, but this time we mainly get descriptions of endless rain and mud. even worse was her hysterical heroine, fresh from boarding school and ready to act the fool. Coffman's protagonists are either bracingly sensible or mildly retarded; sadly, excitable Moira falls squarely into the second camp. I think there was a degree of Northanger Abbey-style satire going on here, but the constant hysteria and idiocy grew wearying. Moria starts off as pragmatic, instantly recognizing her true status at the mansion as being service-level, despite her steward father's various plots to set her up as a love interest to various gentry. but from that admirable recognition of reality, she descends into constant inanity, misunderstanding everything, falling in lust with the married lord of the manor, stumbling about in the rain while ineffectually trying to solve mysteries, continually threatening to flee the dread mansion but never following through. girl just leave already!...more
a slim, compelling thriller. Mart Haven is a young American abroad, working as an archaeologist in London, when she gets a commission to look into thea slim, compelling thriller. Mart Haven is a young American abroad, working as an archaeologist in London, when she gets a commission to look into the whereabouts of a lost ruby in provincial, post-WWII Germany. I love that this is entirely Mart's story and - despite a whirlwind almost-romance at the start of the novel - is all about her solo search for clues to a historical mystery involving the deaths of at least three people centuries prior, a missing gem, a cruel Duke, and the forced move of a Jewish enclave. we follow Mart and only Mart as she explores a crumbling chateau, library, and chapel, and the former enclave as well, eventually. Berckman does a great job moving the story swiftly along and keeping her heroine sensible, complicated, and quietly heroic. after a long and welcome period in which the heroine thinks not a thing about a hoped-for lover, he comes to her in the end, in a surprisingly disturbing climax. the author seemed quite disinterested in making her heroine foolishly lovelorn, and more interested in having her haunted by the fate of a long-dead Jewish moneylender and his community. I loved how in response to the open anti-Semitism displayed by the Germans she encounters while asking about the enclave, she spontaneously decides to pretend that she is Jewish and then stubbornly keeps up the ruse. if only to irritate them into showing their true colors. Mart sneers at those fools, which was pretty hot....more
Althea North has returned to Northwater, her New England home. although still young, she has precious little time left on this earth. her purpose: reuAlthea North has returned to Northwater, her New England home. although still young, she has precious little time left on this earth. her purpose: reunite with her estranged but still loving sister; explain the mystery of her mother's terrible life and violent death; have a last taste of love; find forgiveness for herself; and, most importantly, try to understand the plans of God, so that she may finally have the strength to meet Him, all too soon.
a brief, deeply compassionate, emotionally affecting novel. the prose is elegant and transparent. the story is haunting, elegiac; the pace is relaxed. Northwater is a kind of sweet, dark dirge, a funereal song but one sung before the death has come to pass. it is also an ode to the fragility and strength of family, to remembering, and to the need to embrace living, even unto death. this book has both dread and lightness, and an understanding of the sometimes unbearable heaviness of being. a wise book, melancholy and tender. a mystery of sorts, like much of life.
it appears as if this was marketed as either a sort of "suspense novel for women" - along the lines of wonderful authors like Mary Stewart - or as a straightforward gothic (although of course those are overlapping genres). I think that both women's suspense novels and gothics are sorely underrated, much like romance novels, because chauvinism. just want to make that clear - I'm not against them. but this is not a genre novel, despite its mystery and its murder. it is a literary novel, and all that that label implies. it belongs alongside other forgotten but brilliant studies of regret, despair, and the possibility or impossibility of redemption and transcendence; books as diverse and as underread as Mortal Leap, The Story of Harold, Thanatos, Island People, The Pyx, The Passionate North, Montana Gothic, and The Corrida at San Feliu. books sorely needing rediscovery!
I read this during a time that has me frequently contemplating my own mortality, the mortality of a dear friend, mortality in general. choices made or not, family and community and loneliness and togetherness, how to live a life, the fate that awaits us, and what does it all mean after all, what did we do with our years spent on this earth. some novels are read at just the perfect time, and so it was for me with this perfect little novel. many tears were shed....more
- beware, his mind told him, of people who have in the course of their lives neither taken part in an orgy nor gone through the experience of childbir- beware, his mind told him, of people who have in the course of their lives neither taken part in an orgy nor gone through the experience of childbirth, for they are dangerous people -
never a fun author but always a deep one, John le Carré. a pensive, carefully controlled writer and a deceptively placid novel: the perfect ingredientnever a fun author but always a deep one, John le Carré. a pensive, carefully controlled writer and a deceptively placid novel: the perfect ingredients for the start of what will become a classic series. one that will take the thrill out of 'spy thriller' and which will explore previously unmined depths within the genre. we meet George Smiley and gradually become impressed by this seemingly dull, lumpish, rather vague man. we appreciate his dry insights, his dislike of the pompous and the showy, his sardonic outlook on the systems around him, that almost control him. almost, but not quite, not fully; and not fully means he is, at heart, unable to be controlled. his empathy slowly becomes clear: an empathy that defines him, that is key to what makes him strong, and that is also his greatest weakness. this is not only a novel of spies and espionage, it is also a murder mystery. sadly for George, empathy is perhaps not the most helpful attribute when it comes to solving a murder....more
An absorbing account of the mind of a man. This is not a book of action but rather one of contemplation, as Frederick Douglass maps the deepening of hAn absorbing account of the mind of a man. This is not a book of action but rather one of contemplation, as Frederick Douglass maps the deepening of his perspective throughout his life as a slave, and a little of his life as a free man. The reader is provided multiple examples of the psychotic brutality of slavery, of course. But the book's underlying goal - outside of chronicling the key pivot points in a man's life while on his path to freedom - is to illustrate how it feels to have your life controlled not just by a system, but by fellow humans who do their best to see you as less than. This is all too relatable - to anyone, in any time period. Douglass understands the ways that a person can rationalize their immorality and how a desire to control others is linked to self-esteem, to a sense of worth; he understands how those controlled can rationalize their inaction by identifying with their controller's status; he understands that systems of control require the enforced ignorance and bits of reward that will keep those controlled compliant. Through it all, he seethes, while never forgetting the fallible humanity of both enslaved and enslaver. The reader seethes as well, while perhaps finding it more of a challenge to view those enslavers with the same level of equanimity. No surprise there: Douglass's equanimity and his perfect grasp of human nature, along with his keen intelligence, were all more important traits than his understandable anger: they were what made him such a great man.
Also includes the scathing poem "A Parody" that lampoons the hypocrisy of the Christian slaveholder. That was a surprising way to end this Narrative. Loved it....more
a flowery collection of Decadent fairy tales; the capital D means that these flowers are evil and they aren't even flowers, nor are these fairy tales a flowery collection of Decadent fairy tales; the capital D means that these flowers are evil and they aren't even flowers, nor are these fairy tales actual fairy tales. they are gemstones, precisely cut into floral shapes, entrancing to the eye, beautiful but dead; they are contes cruel, anti-fairy tales full of magic and awe, yet cold, ruthless, heartless. the intrepid young knight is no courtly rescuer, he is a savage raised to hate his father or women or both; his adventure is a waste of his life. the princess isn't human, she's made of silk and pearls; she shall be literally undone by a malevolent mouse. the fairy has kept her paramours enchanted; when another callous young knight appears, champion of Jesus, her lovers shall waken into putrescence, melting horribly into the ground. we never meet Snow White or her dwarven rescuers; the wicked Queen is halted on her mission of vengeance by the passing of Christ's Magi, and is soon torn apart by wolves. these are lovely, slight, and often nihilistic tales, with only one happy ending in sight. it did feel a bit out of place to see the lovers reunited, the girl's journey rewarded, the boy's heart unfrozen... but good for them. and good for decadent Jean Lorrain, journalist, Marcel Proust's old foe: he let one happy ending slip through, at least....more
The young protagonist of this perfect little book worships news anchor Walter Cronkite and I almost feel like that's all I need to say abou
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The young protagonist of this perfect little book worships news anchor Walter Cronkite and I almost feel like that's all I need to say about why I love this book so much. He also has thoughts on Roger Mudd - Cronkite's summer replacement - who he enjoys as well, but with a more critical eye. The kid has a critical eye in general. My kind of kid.
And my kind of book! Do we like people, or books, because they are similar to us? Because they share our interests, because they remind us of ourselves? Because they bring back our favorite memories, or because they connect with the parts of our lives that are meaningful? I know that I enjoy people who share a particular outlook on life with me, one that combines humane, quirky, critical, humorous. This book is all of those things. Is that why I love it?
The book has a character who walks around with his friend the chicken on his head, and when I was a kid I used to walk around with my friend the toad on my head, so there's that too. Maybe that's why love it? Commonalities!
Victor loves pizza with anchovies, grape soda, and the evening news. He is a serious swimmer, unlike those other kids who just like splashing about. He enjoys watching movies like Invasion of the Body Snatchers late at night and then considering the ramifications of their plotlines. He can easily handle things when he finds himself on his own at home for a week. He knows how to take a bus to a neighboring town. He's interested in solving mysteries and knows that making a list is an important part of organizing an investigation. He has a rather organized outlook on life in general. I read about this kid and it was like reading about my young self. Is that why I love this book? Do I love this book because it reminds me of me? Gosh that sounds sorta self-absorbed. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
The main mystery he wants to solve is why he keeps seeing lizard people on his tv. Eventually he is able to visit their home on Invisible Island and is very impressed. Lots of interesting things happening on that island and the lizard people are enjoyable to be around. He really doesn't want to leave them but life must go on and vacations end and off he goes back to his regular life. But at least he gets something out of it besides the memories. Kids can be pretty transactional, just like adults, so I was pretty happy for him when he got his old squirrel from the House of Memory, an important toy that he had lost when younger.
Sadly, I never had these kinds of adventures when I was a kid, but I could still see myself in Victor's circumspect reactions. The biggest adventures I had at his age was taking the bus to downtown South Bend, ordering donuts and soda at coffee shops, walking around, going into bookstores. And building secret forts in the nearby woods, of course. Not quite the same adventures as visiting Invisible Island but they still felt pretty adventurous. Do 4th graders these days still do those sorts of things? I kind of doubt it. What counts as a kid's adventure these days? Just going outside?
Daniel Pinkwater is a marvelous author and is blessed with a fantastic last name. Sorta weird, sorta funny, just like his book. This is not a book that gets all dramatic or heartwarming. Or over the top, despite featuring lizard people and an invisible island and a highly intelligent chicken who becomes revered by the lizard people of Invisible Island. The book is very nonchalant. It's not fussy. Much like Victor, it's not kidding with you, it's not making a joke out of anything. It has a sensible tone. It's not shy when talking about race or how to a lie to a parent. It has thoughts on tv shows and commercials and the news and animals and memories and how to walk on a crowded sidewalk when you are smaller than everyone around you. It has opinions on what makes a person a pod person or a real person. This is a straightforward book about a weird kid and his weird adventures and it makes both the adventures and the kid seem perfectly normal. Because he is!
And "That's the way it is," as Walter Cronkite used to say at the close of his programs.
Beautifully written but unfortunately kind of a pain in the ass to actually read. This was like a nicely plump pillow with no actual support or a cozyBeautifully written but unfortunately kind of a pain in the ass to actually read. This was like a nicely plump pillow with no actual support or a cozy-looking comforter that provides no actual warmth. Except for the mysterious author at the heart of the tale, characterization was flat and unbelievable. Don't get me started on the weirdly morose, insipid protagonist - what a drip. She's miserable and dying inside over missing her dead twin - a twin she only found out about yesterday (basically)? Spare me that bullshit. And good grief, the pat tidiness of that ending. I did enjoy the sequences featuring a Mary Poppins-esque governess and I wish that the entire book had been about her adventures in research. The lovely and evocative prose at first had me turning the pages eagerly. But eventually I was turning the pages as quickly as possible to get the damn experience over with. Still, it has to be said that stylistically and technically, the writing was highly accomplished - no complaints about Setterfield's skills as a wordsmith. This wasn't an objectionable experience, it was merely mediocre. A perfect #1 NYT Bestseller, as the cover proudly acclaims....more
In my adolescence, in the school library of all places, my love of film was born. Compendiums of movie stars, guides to cult films and genre films andIn my adolescence, in the school library of all places, my love of film was born. Compendiums of movie stars, guides to cult films and genre films and foreign films, and above all the film criticism of two diametrically opposed critics, the New Yorker's Pauline Kael and the Village Voice's Andrew Sarris... these books enchanted me and helped me to look at movies in completely different and deeper ways. Kael was warm-blooded passion, her writing style both witty and lusty; she scorned anything that felt too predetermined, too clinical. Sarris was cool intellect, an often dryly sardonic writer whose passions were more measured, an organized thinker who carefully divided up films in a way that I really connected to. Kael excited me, but her nemesis Sarris helped me to organize my own way of thinking about film. He is most remembered today for bringing the Auteur Theory of Cahiers du Cinéma to American shores. It was a completely eye-opening perspective that has stuck with me ever since. Although the Auteur Theory-despising Kael remains the more well-known figure, it is actually Sarris' ideas and passions that have ended up being the more influential in how film is written about today in various publications. And since his ideas were an extension of the concepts generated by Truffaut, Rohmer, Goddard, etc. in the pages of Cahiers, I suppose it can be said that, via Sarris, the French colonized the American way of writing about Le Cinéma.
The Auteur Theory maintains that it is the director's vision which is most responsible for a film's ultimate worth (or lack of worth); an "auteurist" who admires a director should therefore be able to appreciate all of that director's works, even their lesser ones. The auteurist rejects as soulless products those studio productions with anonymous directors lacking any appreciable personality: these are apparently the work of hacks, rather than works of genuine creativity. The auteurist considers the style and form of the film to be as or even more important than the plotting; they find joy in excavating an admired director's minor works because those films provide more examples of the consistency of that director's vision. The auteurist is a completist.
This book is an excellent intro to the Auteur Theory, and to the author's usually well-argued but not-exactly-definitive opinions. It comprehensively lists and divides up a large number of directors into various categories and reviews the quality of their key films. "Quality" is based on technical ability and how well their films showcase those abilities, and above all how much their perspective actually informs their films. Sarris evaluates a director through their style, themes, use of actors, and whether or not there is a constancy of ideas that becomes clear when studying their overall output. This is the umpteenth time I've read this book, although probably a couple of decades (at least) have passed since I've read it cover to cover. It remains a fascinating and illuminating read for me. His enthusiasm was contagious: Sarris' obsessions became my obsessions.
The book's flaws still annoy me: his snobby dismissiveness towards directors lacking a consistent vision and, less importantly, a small-minded rejection of anything Sarris deems to be decadent. The latter attitude unfortunately comes across as homophobic (e.g. he despises "camp" and regularly extolls the depiction of "healthy heterosexual romance"; he brands Mae West a "fag-imitator"). I actually don't consider Sarris to be homophobic, as he also wrote something of an apologia where he recounts how he has happily worked alongside gays and lesbians throughout his life, and how he would never want to be seen as being anti-homosexual because this is a community that has supported him and where he feels very much at home. I believe him - but that doesn't make reading his snide asides any less irritating and eye-rolling. One new and petty complaint: he really overuses the adjective "Pirandellian."
This book introduced me to the brilliance of Alfred Hitchcock, my favorite director. Through Sarris, I also came to appreciate the woman-centering narratives of George Cukor, the brutality of Robert Aldrich, the objectivity of Otto Preminger, the idiosyncrasies of Joseph Losey, the wildness of Samuel Fuller, the humanity of Howard Hawks, the conservatism of John Ford and the liberalism of Douglas Sirk, the "subterranean career" of Edgar G. Ulmer, the operatic Vincente Minnelli, Josef von Sternberg's intense stylization, and Frank Capra's populist celebration of "the conformism of the common man." I'm particularly thankful for meeting the amazing Johnny Guitar through this book.
Much like Kael, Sarris' put-downs are pungent and sometimes off-putting. It remains frustrating to read his dismissals of two of my favorite films, Beat the Devil and Manchurian Candidate (and his derisiveness towards the careers of their directors, John Huston and John Frankenheimer); same goes for his shallow, frequently bitchy rejections of numerous talented directors, in particular Robert Mulligan, Elia Kazan, David Lean, Ida Lupino, and especially Stanley Kubrick (who Kael also disliked, in a rare instance of commonality between the two). His critique of Roman Polanski is memorable - "Polanski's talent is as undeniable as his intentions are dubious" - and was made well before the appalling scandal that had the director fleeing to Europe. His lengthy anti-Jerry Lewis diatribe is amusingly weird; the surprising critical acclaim the comedian received really got under Sarris' skin!
Disagreements and complaints aside, this is an invaluable resource for lovers of classic films.
an ingenious premise: take the old tale of a town beset by a terrifying supernatural threat and plunge it into the modern world with its internet, itsan ingenious premise: take the old tale of a town beset by a terrifying supernatural threat and plunge it into the modern world with its internet, its surveillance, its bored youth wanted to youtube and to influence, and most of all, that modern ability to compartmentalize and normalize and live with any mystery, any threat. the phantom with her eyes and mouth sewn shut can materialize anywhere, anytime; her touch will drive you mad; her curse means you can never leave her town for too long, otherwise you'll die by your hand. but is this terror so terrifying if you can just put a dishrag over her face as she skulks in a corner, then go about your day? perhaps put something in her path, watch her trip and fall. maybe poke her with a stick, push her into a hole. the kids can think of all kinds of things to do with this ancient witch, once abused by villagers of older times, now ready for further humiliation and abuse.
sadly, the book betrays its interesting and even rather amusing premise by focusing on an uninteresting father who goes down a dark path in the name of love. the novel was eerie-funny at first, this witch and how the town deals with her, the whole bizarre situation. the bored teens lashing out was gripping as well... where will their crass shenanigans lead them? but somewhere along the way, the whole thing became increasingly flat rather than taut. its surreal setting turned ridiculous. there were still occasional moments of frisson but eventually the eyerolls came and never stopped. maybe part of the problem was the translation? only a slight part though. Hex started as the tale of a town coping with something unimaginable and making it somehow mundane, and slowly turned into a rather tedious and predictable morality play about the ignorance of groupthink. it also didn't help that the author is surprisingly obsessed with high foreheads (he hates them) and unsurprisingly obsessed with nipples (I'm guessing he loves them).
recommended for fans of Stephen King who found a lot of enjoyment in the groupthink-turned-deadly scenarios of The Mist and Under the Dome. and admirers of The Lottery and The Crucible, of course....more
a lot of beautiful libraries! but also a fair amount of ugly ones, mainly in Italy, which was surprising. whether beautiful or ugly, all of the librara lot of beautiful libraries! but also a fair amount of ugly ones, mainly in Italy, which was surprising. whether beautiful or ugly, all of the libraries in this massive, library-sized book (could easily kill a family of four with it) have been around for centuries - a few for over a thousand years. as far as "beautiful" goes, I think Spain, Portugal, Germany, and maaaaybe Brazil all tied for runner-up. second to the Vatican of course, which in a surprise twist is tied for first place with the relatively homey library at Eastnor Castle in England. besides the cozy castle library, all of the beautiful libraries look like hallucinogenic showrooms rather than anything usable. except for those that favor white pigskin bindings for books set in white shelves within white and pale blue walls; those libraries look like a sinister version of heaven (and also not usable). all of the ugly libraries look like wonderful settings for a creepy gothic adventure, but are certainly not places I'd like to visit because *dust*.
if you read the copious notes, expect to see the words "Rococo" and "Baroque" so many times that you'll never want to see those words again. the writer Elisabeth Sladek also leans very heavily on the words "sumptuous" and "magnificent" - the latter at one point is used twice in the same sentence, which should be a crime.
feels strange to describe a book as "literate" but Doctors Wear Scarlet is certainly that. I noticed that descriptor on the back cover - along with thfeels strange to describe a book as "literate" but Doctors Wear Scarlet is certainly that. I noticed that descriptor on the back cover - along with the equally apropos adjective "alarming" - and sneered. but I've realized it really fits. unnamed reviewer at Chicago Heights Star, you were absolutely correct in calling this "literate and alarming."
the novel is about a young man lured into vampirism. no burning in sunlight or shape changing, but vampirism nonetheless: hypnotic powers, bloodsucking, embracing the darkness, stakes required, etc. the young man in question, Dick Fountain (that name!), is an even-tempered, well-spoken, scholarly, athletic Top Lad at Cambridge who appears totally normal on the surface and is definitely going places academically, if only he would let those around him micromanage his life. but get to know him intimately and you learn he's a little off. surprisingly animalistic in a fight. oddly subservient to authority yet just as oddly sadistic when it comes to freezing out those who would control him. low-key obsessed with the idea that buttoned-up humans need to cast off their shackles and return to their primal, pagan natures. and a writer of pleasant, floral poetry to boot! honestly, I developed kind of a crush on the little weirdo. eventually, Dick Fountain (that name!) goes off to study abroad at various Grecian isles and there he meets a lady who introduces him to a different way of looking at life.
we learn all of this via our erudite, snobby, and rather louche narrator, Mr. Seymour, a schoolchum of Dick Fountain (that name!) - the latter is often viewed from a distance, a flame that the rest of the characters are terribly attracted to. the book itself is much like Mr. Seymour: erudite, snobby, rather louche. Simon Raven has a way of writing a book that makes everyone in the story and the author himself sound like what the English call a toff. even the perfectly amiable detective involved in this case admits that he's only interested in protecting the lives of his friends and "special, talented persons" because "there's no time for the rest." author and cast are all very Ayn Rand, very Nietzsche. as well as exceedingly and obnoxiously languid, casual under pressure, well-read, and hyper-articulate. they were fun to read about.
there are two amazing setpieces in the book: a confrontation in a remote mountain monastery with the vampiress who has ensnared Dick Fountain (that name!) and the detailing of a ghastly-sounding welcoming/graduation ceremony of sorts - students vomiting during their dinner from all of the alcohol they're drinking while their elders look on affectionately and servants rush to clean up the mess - at which a hysterical and very mean-spirited speech is given by Dick Fountain (ok one last time: that name!). the finale is suitably bloody and tragic. (view spoiler)[we also get a description of how the vampiress relaxes, which is basically by hypnotizing children into getting raped and then raping each other, and I really, really didn't need to read about that. hate to end this review of an excellent book with that last sentence, so I put it in a spoiler. but probably important for squeamish readers like me to know about that scene, which occurs late in the book. (hide spoiler)]
☠️
#11 on Karl Edward Wagner's list of "13 Best Supernatural Horror Novels"...more
the best part of this compulsively readable horror-thriller is how well Janz characterizes his Normal Boy protagonist. we're in his head the entire tithe best part of this compulsively readable horror-thriller is how well Janz characterizes his Normal Boy protagonist. we're in his head the entire time and his thoughts, emotions, and reactions all feel completely realistic. he enjoys baseball, he likes his friends, he moons over his crush, he resents his mom, he hates bullies, and he loves his little sister. he really is an outstanding example of normality - which Janz actually makes compelling. perhaps because Normal Boy's normality is in such stark contrast to the various examples of cruelty, stupidity, and villainy that surround him. or maybe because he really is an outstanding older brother, heroically unselfish - I should probably think of him as more than normal, because plenty of siblings lack his impressive kindness. and his empathy extends well beyond his sister: this teen really gets the "hurt people hurt people" concept, certainly to a degree that is well beyond me. I'll upgrade my title for him: he's an Especially Decent Boy. despite this being an often grueling story about a kid versus evil, the writing and the characterization made this feel like a pacey young adult novel featuring a teen protagonist you wouldn't mind seeing your daughter marry.
synopsis: an especially decent boy fights bullies, incompetent policemen, a cannibalistic serial killer, and depraved monsters from underground, while making sure his kid sister has a good breakfast and gets to bed on time....more
in honor of Gay Pride month, I thought I'd read a book about sailors eating each other. sadly, The Wager features shipwreck, mutiny, and murder, but pin honor of Gay Pride month, I thought I'd read a book about sailors eating each other. sadly, The Wager features shipwreck, mutiny, and murder, but precious little man-on-man cannibalism. which frankly I found to be rather homophobic. the passionate hunger a sailor might feel for his fellow shipmate(s) is only mentioned glancingly, kept in the closet. as a society, I really thought we had moved past this kind of erasure. *sigh*
the writing is crisp, brisk, and efficient, similar to a well-paced Wikipedia article. I really appreciated how David Grann made sure to repeatedly remind ignorant readers like me that colonialism and slavery were actually bad. the murderous, micromanaging Captain Cheap (great name) has some similarities with my boss; I often wonder who she'll kill or micromanage next. I should put this on her desk.
okay, clowntime over. the book was fine and was certainly a pleasant way to spend a couple Sunday afternoons. the many hours of research David Grann clearly put in really showed up on the page, but never in a dry, pedantic way. this is a very readable book. it was interesting to learn that common phrases like 'under the weather' & 'toe the line' & 'pipe down' & 'piping hot' & 'scuttlebut' & 'turn a blind eye' were all originally nautical terms. the details about press gangs infuriated me. I loved reading all about the resourceful Kawésqar, an indigenous people living in Chilean Patagonia. and the verdict coming from the court martial at the end of this whole misadventure was very surprising! unfortunately, SPOILER, a delicious dog does die....more
an English author visits California to discuss the adaptation of his novel and is rather appalled. such a trying experience. what have they done with an English author visits California to discuss the adaptation of his novel and is rather appalled. such a trying experience. what have they done with this place? and why is everyone so casual in their style of dress and in their mode of conversation? these Americans are simply absurd. but the brave little lord makes do. per this gentleman's journal: "We have trained the waiters in the dining-room not to give us iced water and our chauffeur not to ask us questions. There is here the exact opposite of the English custom by which the upper classes are expected to ask personal questions of the lower."* egads, this place sounds barbaric. but the English are justly famous for stiff upper lips, and so an Englishman must soldier on.
the author does find "a deep mine of literary gold in the cemetery of Forest Lawn and the work of the morticians" and proceeds to pen a satiric novel once he returns to the damp and chilly embrace of Mother England. the novel is competently written and scores some light points in its spoofery, particularly when its barbs are aimed at the community of English expats ensconced in Hollywood. the book's worth rises or falls on its reader's willingness to see all Americans as ugly or ignorant or perhaps both. as well as the ability of a reader to find amusement in the wacky suicide of its most sympathetic character, during the novel's closing. unfortunately, this provincial American found that plot twist to be rather tasteless and even worse, distinctly unfunny. this is an occasionally droll novel but also quite a cheap and shallow one. and such pat nihilism. one expects better of the sophisticated English upper crust! I assumed the least I could hope for from such a class-conscious subset of the human race would be... a little class. well, I suppose that is what I found: little class. and little humanity.
An amusing autopsy. The corpse is still fetching, still an inspiration to many, despite the rot that started internally and that now corrupts most of An amusing autopsy. The corpse is still fetching, still an inspiration to many, despite the rot that started internally and that now corrupts most of the body, a sickness that led to its recent death. But is it truly dead? The pathologist, Nellie Bowles, is not quite sure. Not long ago, she was a devoted follower of this corpse, during her time at the New York Times. I read her wry, deadpan pieces back then, and enjoyed them thoroughly; I was a like-minded fellow traveler as well, the corpse an inspiring friend. As a queer POC who works at a social services nonprofit, I was put forward as one of the leaders of my workplace's little reckoning. "Little" but it still had its victims, regardless of their race, politics, orientation. Such movements always take the heads of their own. As a progressive lesbian journalist, Bowles was also a part of this movement. Until she became too curious about certain topics, until she fell in love with a contrarian. And then, rather suddenly, that corpse and its followers rejected her; she became exiled but also self-exiling. A happy expat in a new place, with new friends now.
The clinical report that she produced doesn't condescend to its subjects, it doesn't mock them; it eschews spikiness and hot takes; there are no cheap shots. She doesn't forget: she was once one of them. Her scathing wit is reined in; instead we have both coolly composed distance and and an understanding that the corpse and its legions held their beliefs in genuine good faith. There is a surprising amount of empathy here, no matter how toxic the behavior. The result is that I smiled at times, shook my head or rolled my eyes at other times, but never felt as if Bowles were settling scores or viewing her subjects with derision. The book portrays a range of bizarre and infuriating situations, but the tone remains dryly ironic, never sneering.
And so the reader visits Seattle's brief autonomous zone, Portland's masked antifa, Black Lives Matter and Abolish the Police, progressive speaking order, the entirely insipid yet incredibly influential Tema Okun and Robin Diangelo, homelessness in Los Angeles and drug addiction in San Francisco, trans rights activists and gender ideologues, and of course the bloodsport known as canceling. Nearly all of these visits are even-tempered ones, despite the embarrassing, complacent ignorance on display. Naivete can be charming; good intentions don't deserve mockery. This corpse meant well, at least at the start. Only when it comes to women's rights and to raising children does Bowles show anger and righteousness: she is an old school feminist and she is a mother, after all. Beyond those topics, she is content to deliver her appraisal of the past few years' various sociopolitical movements in a style that is detached but not dismissive. This pathology report is suitable for publishing in a glossy weekend magazine: I-was-there reporting that is also a droll lifestyle feature. A sardonic long-form article about important topics, that somehow keeps things light. One has to have a sense of humor, even during an autopsy....more
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