Nostalgia as another word for booklog
Jul. 18th, 2008 11:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneSeveral of these made me cry. It's been one of those weeks fortnights...
110. Flying Dutch, Tom Holt — British comic fantasy that really pales in comparison to the Terry Pratchett I’ve been reading lately. To start with, it’s just not that funny—the plot revolves around a lot of aspects of forced wackiness, such as bad smells and accountants, that really don’t do much for me, and at best the writing achieves a sort of affable Englishness which is pleasant, but hardly uproarious. It would work if the core of the book were meatier, but it isn’t. Pratchett is so impressive because, at his best, he’s not only funny, his books mean something—he addresses real-world issues through a fantastical setting and a lot of sharp satire. In Holt’s book, however, the Flying Dutchman and his situation aren’t representative of anything but themselves. I’m not saying everything I read needs to be OMG STEEPED IN METAPHOR AND SYMBOLISM!—but, you know, a little depth wouldn’t hurt.
Better jokes would be good, too.
111. Astonishing X-Men: Torn, Joss Whedon — Oh, Joss. This is classic Whedon, with a plot device that allows for an in-depth exploration of each of the characters’ greatest fears—and it’s delicious. I just wish that these collections weren’t so damn short, especially since this one’s a cliffhanger!
112. The Sharing Knife: Passage, Lois McMaster Bujold — A much more engaging and fulfilling installment than the last book in the series, Legacy. I enjoyed seeing Dag and Fawn’s quest to better integrate the Lakewalker and Farmer societies take shape; I liked the reintroduction of Fawn’s brother, Whit; and I loved when the story became a river narrative, a kind of Huckleberry Finn with magic.
I hope there’s another volume; I’m still not convinced that Dag isn’t getting into something dark and dangerous and way over his head, and that Fawn’s going to need to pull him back. I like how Bujold writes her—so unassumingly clever and sensible, yet believable, where in a lesser writer’s hands I think she would easily become an utter blank or a Mary Sue—but I feel like she hasn’t reached her full potential yet, and I’d like to see that—a little forced self-reliance, separate from Dag, before the two of them have their final happily ever after. So… next book soon, plz?
113. When You Are Engulfed in Flames, David Sedaris — Another immensely enjoyable Sedaris collection. Most of the laugh out loud moments for me revolved around jokes about shit, pee, the flatulence of elderly women, ass boils, and camels, but that’s just because I’m sophisticated like that.
Although actually: actually, one of the amazing things about Sedaris is that he attains emotional depth in essays nominally about ass boils—“Old Faithful,” one of my favorites in this collection and the only one I had read previously, is somehow one of the sweetest love stories I’ve lately encountered. And the final, sprawling essay about quitting smoking and living in Japan, is wonderfully complex and detailed. I already want to read it again. Too bad the public library discourages stealing.
114. Princess in Love, Meg Cabot — I think what I like best about these books are all the dumb pop culture shoutouts. The Cutting Edge FTW!
115. Y: The Last Man — Whys and Wherefores, Brian K. Vaughan — This made me really depressed. I don’t really want to talk about it.
116. A Fountain Filled With Blood, Julia Spencer-Fleming — Sequel to In the Bleak Midwinter. I loved the first three-fourths of this, though I think it kind of fell apart at the end. Among the good: meeting Russ’ wonderfully eccentric mom, Clare helping Russ confront his internalized homophobia (and his willingness to do so, which shows, despite his discomfort, what a good man he is), Clare interrupting her investigations to get drunk and flirty with a cute Brit—a sequence that, since it’s her, ends with her jumping out a second story window. It’s nice, in a sophomore effort, to feel like you’re really getting comfortable with the characters, and this book also has a mystery that honestly did keep me anxiously on the edge of my seat.
However, I felt everything that led up to getting Clare in the pilot’s seat of that helicopter seemed rather contrived. I understand why Spencer-Fleming wanted to go there, but I don’t think she quite made it work. And following on the helicopter sequence’s heels, the unraveling of the conspiracy at the end felt unsuspenseful and almost airless.
In general, I just don’t think my enjoyment of this book could match my delight at the discovery of the first, but I’m still looking forward to the next one and seeing Russ and Clare’s relationship progress.
117. Curses! Broiled Again!, Jan Harold Brunvand— I seem to be addicted to Brunvand’s urban legend books. This is one of his longest, but not one of his best—I really like the whole section devoted to academic legends, but in general, his earlier books had the choicest (creepiest) legends and the most in-depth analysis. The Vanishing Hitchhiker is still, I think, the most satisfying and shiver-inducing.
118. Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett — Even better than Guards! Guards, I loved so much about this. Loved Vimes, loved Carrot, loved Cuddy and Detritus, loved Angua, loved Vetinari (especially his surprise and horror at getting shot, and the scene at the end with Carrot). I guess my review, if it can be called that, is basically <3 .
119. The Zombie Survival Guide, Max Brooks — There seems to be some disagreement as to whether this is a humor or a horror book. It was marketed as the former, but I actually think it’s more effective as the latter. If it’s a humor book, it’s strictly one-note—survival guides expect you to be ridiculously over-prepared, haha! As a horror book—even keeping in mind its goofier moments—it really gets under your skin, makes you reassess your surroundings and your safety in ways, I think, few monster stories do.
It’s also interesting to look at this book as Brooks’ warm-up exercise for World War Z: he’s laying out the rules of his universe here, getting a feel for it. But this book, like I said, doesn’t quite know what it wants to be. World War Z knows. And when it tells you, you don’t forget.
120. Population: 485, Michael Perry — Perry recounts how he moved back to his very small Wisconsin hometown and reintegrated himself into the community by becoming a volunteer firefighter and first responder. This is an amazing book. The stories Perry tells contain dozens of moments that are both hilarious and heart-wrenching—often within sentences of each other. The details about firefighting and working as an EMT are fascinating, as are the portraits Perry draws of various figures in the community—and of the community itself. He actually made me nostalgic for my tiny hometown—which, although twenty times bigger than Perry’s, still seemed stifling to me when I lived there. Perry’s writing revives in me a sort of innocent belief in American communities, although there’s nothing naïve or whitewashed about his portrayal of his town and its people. Infrastructure crumbles; petty cruelties persist; bad things happen, often to good people. But Perry, it seems, has found whatever secret thing it is that makes it worth it to go on. And there’s a taste of it here between these pages.
121. Nine Stories, J.D. Salinger — It’s a strange thing to recognize yourself in a piece of fiction. I see my whole family in Salinger’s. I don’t know what it was about these stories in particular—even more so than Franny and Zooey—but I felt a shivery sense of resonance reading about the vast Irish/Jewish Glass clan. That’s us—or at least, that’s very much what I imagined when my grandfather talked about growing up in Connecticut and New York and fighting in World War II; it’s what comes to mind when my mom talks about her own New York childhood—which took place a decade after these stories, but still seems to have been alive with the same sort of scenery. And emotionally, too, these crazy, fucked up intellectuals—it’s a little close for comfort.
Salinger’s writing is also just beautiful, and the stories beautifully crafted. He writes actions—not action, but actions—so well: these characters come alive in their fiddly, fidgety motions. “A Perfect Day for Bananafish,” “The Laughing Man,” and “For Esmé — with Love and Squalor” were my most obvious favorites, but there’s also something about the quiet “Down at the Dinghy” that’s still holding me. I look forward to rereading this many, many times in years to come.
Total Books: 121
110. Flying Dutch, Tom Holt — British comic fantasy that really pales in comparison to the Terry Pratchett I’ve been reading lately. To start with, it’s just not that funny—the plot revolves around a lot of aspects of forced wackiness, such as bad smells and accountants, that really don’t do much for me, and at best the writing achieves a sort of affable Englishness which is pleasant, but hardly uproarious. It would work if the core of the book were meatier, but it isn’t. Pratchett is so impressive because, at his best, he’s not only funny, his books mean something—he addresses real-world issues through a fantastical setting and a lot of sharp satire. In Holt’s book, however, the Flying Dutchman and his situation aren’t representative of anything but themselves. I’m not saying everything I read needs to be OMG STEEPED IN METAPHOR AND SYMBOLISM!—but, you know, a little depth wouldn’t hurt.
Better jokes would be good, too.
111. Astonishing X-Men: Torn, Joss Whedon — Oh, Joss. This is classic Whedon, with a plot device that allows for an in-depth exploration of each of the characters’ greatest fears—and it’s delicious. I just wish that these collections weren’t so damn short, especially since this one’s a cliffhanger!
112. The Sharing Knife: Passage, Lois McMaster Bujold — A much more engaging and fulfilling installment than the last book in the series, Legacy. I enjoyed seeing Dag and Fawn’s quest to better integrate the Lakewalker and Farmer societies take shape; I liked the reintroduction of Fawn’s brother, Whit; and I loved when the story became a river narrative, a kind of Huckleberry Finn with magic.
I hope there’s another volume; I’m still not convinced that Dag isn’t getting into something dark and dangerous and way over his head, and that Fawn’s going to need to pull him back. I like how Bujold writes her—so unassumingly clever and sensible, yet believable, where in a lesser writer’s hands I think she would easily become an utter blank or a Mary Sue—but I feel like she hasn’t reached her full potential yet, and I’d like to see that—a little forced self-reliance, separate from Dag, before the two of them have their final happily ever after. So… next book soon, plz?
113. When You Are Engulfed in Flames, David Sedaris — Another immensely enjoyable Sedaris collection. Most of the laugh out loud moments for me revolved around jokes about shit, pee, the flatulence of elderly women, ass boils, and camels, but that’s just because I’m sophisticated like that.
Although actually: actually, one of the amazing things about Sedaris is that he attains emotional depth in essays nominally about ass boils—“Old Faithful,” one of my favorites in this collection and the only one I had read previously, is somehow one of the sweetest love stories I’ve lately encountered. And the final, sprawling essay about quitting smoking and living in Japan, is wonderfully complex and detailed. I already want to read it again. Too bad the public library discourages stealing.
114. Princess in Love, Meg Cabot — I think what I like best about these books are all the dumb pop culture shoutouts. The Cutting Edge FTW!
115. Y: The Last Man — Whys and Wherefores, Brian K. Vaughan — This made me really depressed. I don’t really want to talk about it.
116. A Fountain Filled With Blood, Julia Spencer-Fleming — Sequel to In the Bleak Midwinter. I loved the first three-fourths of this, though I think it kind of fell apart at the end. Among the good: meeting Russ’ wonderfully eccentric mom, Clare helping Russ confront his internalized homophobia (and his willingness to do so, which shows, despite his discomfort, what a good man he is), Clare interrupting her investigations to get drunk and flirty with a cute Brit—a sequence that, since it’s her, ends with her jumping out a second story window. It’s nice, in a sophomore effort, to feel like you’re really getting comfortable with the characters, and this book also has a mystery that honestly did keep me anxiously on the edge of my seat.
However, I felt everything that led up to getting Clare in the pilot’s seat of that helicopter seemed rather contrived. I understand why Spencer-Fleming wanted to go there, but I don’t think she quite made it work. And following on the helicopter sequence’s heels, the unraveling of the conspiracy at the end felt unsuspenseful and almost airless.
In general, I just don’t think my enjoyment of this book could match my delight at the discovery of the first, but I’m still looking forward to the next one and seeing Russ and Clare’s relationship progress.
117. Curses! Broiled Again!, Jan Harold Brunvand— I seem to be addicted to Brunvand’s urban legend books. This is one of his longest, but not one of his best—I really like the whole section devoted to academic legends, but in general, his earlier books had the choicest (creepiest) legends and the most in-depth analysis. The Vanishing Hitchhiker is still, I think, the most satisfying and shiver-inducing.
118. Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett — Even better than Guards! Guards, I loved so much about this. Loved Vimes, loved Carrot, loved Cuddy and Detritus, loved Angua, loved Vetinari (especially his surprise and horror at getting shot, and the scene at the end with Carrot). I guess my review, if it can be called that, is basically <3 .
119. The Zombie Survival Guide, Max Brooks — There seems to be some disagreement as to whether this is a humor or a horror book. It was marketed as the former, but I actually think it’s more effective as the latter. If it’s a humor book, it’s strictly one-note—survival guides expect you to be ridiculously over-prepared, haha! As a horror book—even keeping in mind its goofier moments—it really gets under your skin, makes you reassess your surroundings and your safety in ways, I think, few monster stories do.
It’s also interesting to look at this book as Brooks’ warm-up exercise for World War Z: he’s laying out the rules of his universe here, getting a feel for it. But this book, like I said, doesn’t quite know what it wants to be. World War Z knows. And when it tells you, you don’t forget.
120. Population: 485, Michael Perry — Perry recounts how he moved back to his very small Wisconsin hometown and reintegrated himself into the community by becoming a volunteer firefighter and first responder. This is an amazing book. The stories Perry tells contain dozens of moments that are both hilarious and heart-wrenching—often within sentences of each other. The details about firefighting and working as an EMT are fascinating, as are the portraits Perry draws of various figures in the community—and of the community itself. He actually made me nostalgic for my tiny hometown—which, although twenty times bigger than Perry’s, still seemed stifling to me when I lived there. Perry’s writing revives in me a sort of innocent belief in American communities, although there’s nothing naïve or whitewashed about his portrayal of his town and its people. Infrastructure crumbles; petty cruelties persist; bad things happen, often to good people. But Perry, it seems, has found whatever secret thing it is that makes it worth it to go on. And there’s a taste of it here between these pages.
121. Nine Stories, J.D. Salinger — It’s a strange thing to recognize yourself in a piece of fiction. I see my whole family in Salinger’s. I don’t know what it was about these stories in particular—even more so than Franny and Zooey—but I felt a shivery sense of resonance reading about the vast Irish/Jewish Glass clan. That’s us—or at least, that’s very much what I imagined when my grandfather talked about growing up in Connecticut and New York and fighting in World War II; it’s what comes to mind when my mom talks about her own New York childhood—which took place a decade after these stories, but still seems to have been alive with the same sort of scenery. And emotionally, too, these crazy, fucked up intellectuals—it’s a little close for comfort.
Salinger’s writing is also just beautiful, and the stories beautifully crafted. He writes actions—not action, but actions—so well: these characters come alive in their fiddly, fidgety motions. “A Perfect Day for Bananafish,” “The Laughing Man,” and “For Esmé — with Love and Squalor” were my most obvious favorites, but there’s also something about the quiet “Down at the Dinghy” that’s still holding me. I look forward to rereading this many, many times in years to come.
Total Books: 121
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Date: 2008-07-18 09:30 pm (UTC)