“The Perfect Couple” by Elin Hilderbrand had all the makings of a gripping narrative—a murder mystery combined with romance, set against the picturesq“The Perfect Couple” by Elin Hilderbrand had all the makings of a gripping narrative—a murder mystery combined with romance, set against the picturesque backdrop of Nantucket. The story follows the wedding of Benji and Celeste, a supposedly perfect couple, but things take a darker turn when the maid of honour is found dead on the morning of the wedding.
As the "mystery" unfolds, it's clear that Hilderbrand is more interested in exploring the petty dramas and secrets of the wealthy elite than crafting a compelling whodunit. The revelations, when they come, are bog-standard and boring, lacking any real tension or surprises.
The romance was basically nonexistent as Celeste and her love interest simply fall in love at first glance. Yes, it happens, but as a story element, it’s just lazy.
Another problem were the characters themselves: Benji, for instance, emerged as an exceedingly annoying and shallow character. His emotional turmoil following the death on his wedding day only served to accentuate his self-centredness.
»Benji is experiencing a host of very confusing emotions. He is upset, shocked, and horrified just like everyone else. And yet also mixed in there are anger and resentment. It’s his wedding day! His parents have gone to enormous effort and expense to make this wedding unforgettable and now it’s all for naught.«
His response to Celeste the murder of Celeste’s supposedly-best friend was selfish and shallow, and his treatment of Celeste was appalling.
»She was lucky to be here, lucky she had a friend like you, she didn’t deserve you, wasn’t worthy of you, Celeste. And furthermore, she probably did this to herself! You told me once that she stockpiled pills and considered suicide, so what’s to say that’s not what this is? She orchestrated this to ruin our big day!«
What a champ, right?
His fiancée and soon-to-be wife, Celeste, is, to him, like an exotic creature Benji feels compelled to possess. And they first met at the zoo.
»Celeste is like a rare butterfly that Benji was somehow able to capture. That comparison is, no doubt, inappropriate on many different levels, but that’s how he thinks of her in his private mind where no one can judge him, that she’s like an exotic bird or butterfly.«
The portrayal of other characters, too, left much to be desired. Tag, the playboy, and Greer, the snobby housewife, were reductionist caricatures that failed to elicit any emotional engagement.
Celeste herself is a calculating, opportunistic person who is more concerned with money and security than actual emotions. Merritt, her friend, is little more than a sounding board for Celeste's problems, and even that relationship feels strained and inauthentic.
Celeste’s inner monologue often revolved around whether a particular luxury item or location would be enough to replace love, and her dialogue was peppered with infantile statements about her own insecurities.
»How will it work? Celeste asked Benji. M-M-Money, I m-m-mean. Once we’re m-m-married? I’ll put your name on my accounts, Benji said. We’ll get you an ATM card, a checkbook. Once I turn thirty-five, I’ll have access to the trust from my Garrison grandparents, so there will be that money as well. Celeste has wondered since then how much money is in the Garrison trust. A million dollars? Five million? Twenty million? What is the amount that takes the place of love? What about m-my salary? Celeste had asked. Keep it for yourself, Benji said.«
One might argue that these character flaws are intentional and serve the broader purpose of Hilderbrand’s social commentary. However, even if this were her intent, the execution falls woefully short of crafting a compelling and nuanced narrative. The incessant, somewhat trite observations and paper-thin plot developments were monotonous, testing my patience with each page.
As if to punctuate the already dire state of the narrative, the denouement lacked any semblance of satisfaction, providing neither closure nor contemplation. The novel just falls over and silently dies.
I'm left feeling like I've wasted precious reading time on a narrative that fails to engage on any level. Reading this novel felt like an exercise in endurance rather than enjoyment.
“The Perfect Couple” by Elin Hilderbrand had all the makings of a gripping narrative—a murder mystery combined with romance, set against the picturesque backdrop of Nantucket. The story follows the wedding of Benji and Celeste, a supposedly perfect couple, but things take a darker turn when the maid of honour is found dead on the morning of the wedding.
As the "mystery" unfolds, it's clear that Hilderbrand is more interested in exploring the petty dramas and secrets of the wealthy elite than crafting a compelling whodunit. The revelations, when they come, are bog-standard and boring, lacking any real tension or surprises.
The romance was basically nonexistent as Celeste and her love interest simply fall in love at first glance. Yes, it happens, but as a story element, it’s just lazy.
Another problem were the characters themselves: Benji, for instance, emerged as an exceedingly annoying and shallow character. His emotional turmoil following the death on his wedding day only served to accentuate his self-centredness.
»Benji is experiencing a host of very confusing emotions. He is upset, shocked, and horrified just like everyone else. And yet also mixed in there are anger and resentment. It’s his wedding day! His parents have gone to enormous effort and expense to make this wedding unforgettable and now it’s all for naught.«
His response to Celeste the murder of Celeste’s supposedly-best friend was selfish and shallow, and his treatment of Celeste was appalling.
»She was lucky to be here, lucky she had a friend like you, she didn’t deserve you, wasn’t worthy of you, Celeste. And furthermore, she probably did this to herself! You told me once that she stockpiled pills and considered suicide, so what’s to say that’s not what this is? She orchestrated this to ruin our big day!«
What a champ, right?
His fiancée and soon-to-be wife, Celeste, is, to him, like an exotic creature Benji feels compelled to possess. And they first met at the zoo.
»Celeste is like a rare butterfly that Benji was somehow able to capture. That comparison is, no doubt, inappropriate on many different levels, but that’s how he thinks of her in his private mind where no one can judge him, that she’s like an exotic bird or butterfly.«
The portrayal of other characters, too, left much to be desired. Tag, the playboy, and Greer, the snobby housewife, were reductionist caricatures that failed to elicit any emotional engagement.
Celeste herself is a calculating, opportunistic person who is more concerned with money and security than actual emotions. Merritt, her friend, is little more than a sounding board for Celeste's problems, and even that relationship feels strained and inauthentic.
Celeste’s inner monologue often revolved around whether a particular luxury item or location would be enough to replace love, and her dialogue was peppered with infantile statements about her own insecurities.
»How will it work? Celeste asked Benji. M-M-Money, I m-m-mean. Once we’re m-m-married? I’ll put your name on my accounts, Benji said. We’ll get you an ATM card, a checkbook. Once I turn thirty-five, I’ll have access to the trust from my Garrison grandparents, so there will be that money as well. Celeste has wondered since then how much money is in the Garrison trust. A million dollars? Five million? Twenty million? What is the amount that takes the place of love? What about m-my salary? Celeste had asked. Keep it for yourself, Benji said.«
One might argue that these character flaws are intentional and serve the broader purpose of Hilderbrand’s social commentary. However, even if this were her intent, the execution falls woefully short of crafting a compelling and nuanced narrative. The incessant, somewhat trite observations and paper-thin plot developments were monotonous, testing my patience with each page.
As if to punctuate the already dire state of the narrative, the denouement lacked any semblance of satisfaction, providing neither closure nor contemplation. The novel just falls over and silently dies.
I'm left feeling like I've wasted precious reading time on a narrative that fails to engage on any level. Reading this novel felt like an exercise in endurance rather than enjoyment.
I’ve long wanted to read some of the more “classic” mysteries in the hopes of finding another Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, or Miss Marple. I was aI’ve long wanted to read some of the more “classic” mysteries in the hopes of finding another Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, or Miss Marple. I was also inspired by 1986’s mystery-adventure “Killed Until Dead” in which Wimsey and other classic sleuths investigate.
Unfortunately, Dorothy L. Sayers' "Strong Poison" failed to impress, feeling distinctly dated. Published in 1930, it suffers from the mannerisms, the tone, and the zeitgeist of the previous decade which detracted from my overall enjoyment.
Right from the outset, the narrative was bogged down by a significant information dump delivered through the judge's summarising of the case to the jury. This served as an intro, and while I appreciate thorough background, it dragged on unnecessarily for the first 12% of the novel, making for a tedious start.
Lord Peter Wimsey, the supposed star of the show, comes across as unsympathetic and rather superficial. His character, along with that of Harriet Vane, left me feeling disconnected and uninvested. The novel seemed to revel in his eccentricity without endearing him to the reader. Unlike Holmes, Poirot, or Marple, whose quirks add depth and charm, Wimsey's characteristics felt forced and less appealing.
The secondary characters did not fare much better in my estimation. Harriet Vane, the accused at the heart of the narrative, and various other figures blended into the background without making a significant impact. Moreover, the characterisation is often shallow and relies on outdated stereotypes.
»“Female intuition,” said Eiluned, bluntly. “She doesn’t like the way he does his hair.”«
To make matters worse, I correctly guessed the culprit and motive early on, leaving me underwhelmed for much of the remainder of the novel.
Despite its shortcomings, I must admit that "Strong Poison" is not a complete failure. The writing is good enough, and Sayers' use of language is undeniably evocative. Fans of classic mysteries may find more to appreciate, but for me, it failed to live up to its potential.
Three stars out of five from me; I have read far worse, but I expected much better.
Matthew Reilly's "Seven Deadly Wonders" is akin to reading a 90s action B-movie. Unfortunately, the novel fails to deliver a compelling narrative, witMatthew Reilly's "Seven Deadly Wonders" is akin to reading a 90s action B-movie. Unfortunately, the novel fails to deliver a compelling narrative, with both the plot and characters lacking believability. While Reilly attempts to blend high-octane action with historical mysteries, the result is a muddled execution that leaves much to be desired.
From the outset, the characters come off as one-dimensional and unconvincing. They are supposedly a diverse group from various backgrounds, but this diversity is sadly superficial. This oversight detracts significantly from the novel, creating a sense of sameness that undermines the story's potential. For instance, Big Ears dangling precariously over a ledge is a moment ripe with tension but falls flat due to clichéd dialogue and character interactions:
»Big Ears was dangling over the edge of Level 1 directly above her, helpless. ‘I can’t get to her!’ ‘And I can!’ another voice called. West. He never missed a step. Running full tilt, he just leapt off the edge of Level 1 and sailed in a high curving arc through the air toward the croc-lake below.«
The plot is convoluted with numerous loose ends and implausible scenarios. The novel struggles to maintain a coherent storyline, often feeling episodic rather than a unified narrative. This lack of cohesion disrupts the reading experience and makes it difficult to remain invested in the characters' exploits. The plot includes a vividly gruesome yet ridiculous depiction of a Caesarean delivery performed during a volcanic eruption.
»A gruesome yet urgent image: flanked by the encroaching lava and the steadily lowering ceiling, the two men perform a Caesarean delivery on the dead woman’s body using West’s Leatherman knife.«
Reilly's attempts at infusing the story with historical conspiracies come across as overly extravagant and eye-roll-inducing. The portrayal of the Cult of Amun-Ra, linked to various historical and modern figures, borders on the absurd. This inclusion feels less like a testament to thorough research and more like desperate embellishment.
»This Cult of Amun-Ra has endured to the present day, under many guises. For instance, the Knights of St John of Malta, and some sections of the Catholic Church. ‘The Freemasons, too, have long attached great significance to the Great Pyramid—and are often accused of being a thinly-veiled reincarnation of the Cult of Amun-Ra. Indeed, one very famous Freemason, Napoleon Bonaparte, was initiated into the order’s highest ranks inside the King’s Chamber of the Great Pyramid.«
Ultimately, "Seven Deadly Wonders" reads like a cheap piece of bubble gum – initially somewhat fresh but quickly becoming bland and boring. The novel fails to deliver on its intriguing premise, leaving readers with a disappointing aftertaste. With its numerous flaws and lacklustre execution, this novel does not live up to the standards set by other works in the genre. If you’re seeking a quality action-adventure read, you might want to look elsewhere.
Ich erinnere mich noch genau, wie ich Gaston zum ersten Mal durch meinen Bruder kennenlernte, der eine beachtliche Sammlung der Comicbände besaß. DiesIch erinnere mich noch genau, wie ich Gaston zum ersten Mal durch meinen Bruder kennenlernte, der eine beachtliche Sammlung der Comicbände besaß. Diese szenischen und oft anarchischen Abenteuer waren eine willkommene Abwechslung zu den eher konventionellen Geschichten, die meine Eltern bevorzugten. Als ich also "Der ganze Gaston" von André Franquin in die Hände bekam, fühlte es sich an wie eine Reise zurück in diese Zeit.
Gaston, diese chaotische, liebenswerte Figur, hat nichts an seinem Charme und geradezu unglaublichem Unterhaltungswert eingebüßt. Er bleibt der unorganisierte Erfinder und "Schlaffi" mit dem Herz am rechten Fleck, der ständig im Zentrum von Turbulenzen steht (die er zudem zumeist selbst verursacht hat).
In vielen Momenten treibt Gaston seine Kolleg_innen, allen voran anfangs den völlig überforderten Redakteur Fantasio, später dann den beförderten Demel, in den Wahnsinn.
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Auch wenn Gastons Abenteuer oftmals in unvorhersehbaren Katastrophen münden, prägt ihn eine bemerkenswerte Kreativität und Innovationsfreude. Wie könnte ich die legendären „Eierkuchen à la Zeppelin" vergessen?
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Gastons Unschuld und sein Drang zu helfen, auch wenn er oft mehr Schaden als Gutes anrichtet, machen ihn so menschlich und liebenswürdig. Dies umso mehr, als seine Erfindungen nie bösartig (manchmal allerdings überaus schelmisch!) sind, sondern immer ein Zeichen seines unbeirrbaren Optimismus und seines Glaubens daran, die Welt zu verbessern.
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André Franquin verfolgt mit Gaston einen überaus menschlichen Ansatz mit viel anarchischem Humor, aber auch einer breiten Palette an Ideen - bis hin zu seinen auf den jeweiligen Strip abgestimmten Signaturen.
"Gaston" war der Comic, den Franquin auch noch fortsetzte, als er den Comic "Spirou" aus Gründen seiner Depression abgeben musste. Gaston war für Franquin so wichtig, dass er verfügte, Gaston dürfe nach seinem Tod nicht fortgeführt werden. (Leider hat seine Tochter dies im Rahmen eines Vergleichs mit dem Verlag Dupuis aufgehoben.)
Der Inbegriff der chaotischen (und trotzdem gewissermaßen systematischen) Kreativität, der Faulheit und Bequemlichkeit, seiner Erfindungsgabe und nicht zuletzt unerschütterlicher Tierliebe Gastons ist jedoch jenes zumindest für mich legendäre (und höchst erstrebenswerte!) Bild, das zudem gleichzeitig die Einstellung seiner Kolleg_innen zu Gaston beinahe perfekt widerspiegelt…
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Die vorliegende Sammlung umfasst nunmehr endlich alle jemals erschienenen Gaston-Strips in fünf Bänden auf 1200 denkwürdigen Seiten, die ich über die letzten Tage nach vielen Jahren “Abstinenz” im Sinne des Erwerbs höherer Weisheit rezipiert habe… ;-)
Einzig weniger interessant in dieser Ausgabe fand ich die in jedem Band am Ende anzutreffenden Abschnitte "Auf den Spuren von Gaston". Sie enthalten viel Text zur Entstehungsgeschichte, der bestimmt reizvoll und großartig ist, für mich aber nur den Fluss der rasanten Geschichten unterbricht. Doch die ebenfalls darin enthaltenen historischen Skizzen und Illustrationen sind ein wunderschöner Zusatz, der das Werk abrundet.
Insgesamt ist "Der ganze Gaston" eine wunderbare Zeitkapsel voll (anarchischem) Humor und Wärme. Der zeit- und verschleißlose Charme Franquins einmaligen Werks hat die Jahrzehnte (erfunden bereits 1957!) tadellos überstanden und auf den rassistischen Charakter einer einzigen spezifischen Darstellung wird explizit hingewiesen und dieser eingeordnet. Außerdem war André Franquin auch als Comic-Zeichner immer engagiert - mit Greenpeace gegen den Walfang (Band 5, Seite 88) oder mit Amnesty International für die Menschenrechte (Band 5, Seite 151) und viele mehr.
Wie also könnte ich diesem grandiosen Meisterwerk weniger als fünf von fünf Sternen verleihen?
Ich muss gestehen, dass "Der geheimnisvolle Stern" für mich einer der langweiligeren Bände in Hergés Tim-und-Struppi-Reihe ist. Die Geschichte beginntIch muss gestehen, dass "Der geheimnisvolle Stern" für mich einer der langweiligeren Bände in Hergés Tim-und-Struppi-Reihe ist. Die Geschichte beginnt mit Tims Entdeckung eines neuen, bedrohlichen Sterns, der scheinbar die Zerstörung der Erde bedeutet. Diese Katastrophe bleibt jedoch aus, und das drohende Unheil reduziert sich auf ein großes Bruchstück, das ins Polarmeer stürzt.
Hergé versucht, mit einem Wettrennen zwischen einer von einer Bank finanzierten Expedition und Tim, der für die Europäische Forschungsgemeinschaft antritt, die Spannung aufrechtzuerhalten.
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Leider bleibt die Handlung relativ flach und repetitiv. Der Lichtblick des Bandes ist jedoch der erste Auftritt des grundsätzlich (hier allerdings weniger) unterhaltsamen Kapitän Haddocks, der in zukünftigen Abenteuern eine wichtige Rolle spielen wird.
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Auch für diesen Band ist es wichtig, die historischen Hintergründe zu kennen: Das Album erschien 1942 nach bereits zweijähriger Besetzung Belgiens durch Nazi-Deutschland. Hergé blieb davon nicht unbeeinflusst: Im Original heißt der dort amerikanische Bankier “Blumenstein” und ist unverkennbar antisemitisch dargestellt. In späteren Ausgaben wurde daraus "Bohlwinkel" aus dem fiktiven "Sao Rico" - die Darstellung blieb unverändert...
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Alles in allem: Ein unterdurchschnittlicher Band, der aber zumindest mit einigen netten Ideen (z. B. explodierende Riesenpilze) aufwarten kann. Sollte der Verlag jemals eine Neuauflage in Betracht ziehen, würde ich mir ein erklärendes Vorwort wünschen, um jüngeren Lesern die nötige historische Einbettung zu geben.
Drei von fünf Sternen - trotz besonderer Sympathien mit Struppi...
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