Magical Mystery Booklog
Dec. 29th, 2008 10:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneSo close! Luckily, there are very few things at this point that I could actually read.
251. A Monstrous Regiment of Women, Laurie R. King — Well, it took more than a year, but King sucked me back in. I think I needed something to take the taste of John R. King's (no relation?) The Shadow of Reichenbach Falls out of my mouth; in comparison to that novel, this one is masterful. I enjoyed this much more than the previous book in the series, too, mostly because Watson is only in one scene, which leaves King very little opportunity to write him badly. Woo! The pacing is tighter, too, as this novel takes places over just a couple of months, rather than years. And I have to admit, I do enjoy the chemistry between Russell and Holmes. To give King her due, she understands exactly what's sexy about him: the wonderful combination of fierce intelligence and physical grace and deep, deep repression. Yum!
I have to say, these are so far by far the best-written Holmes pastiches I've read. I only wish there were some well-written ones that gave Watson the respect he deserves (and maybe even a good storyline!).
252. Conrad’s Fate, Diana Wynne Jones — I haven't read any of the Chrestomanci books since I was quite wee; I'm not sure what made me want to pick this one up now, but it was enjoyable even with a blurred memory of the context of the rest of the series. I enjoyed the first half of the book the best, when Conrad has no idea what's going on and Christopher gets to be cocky and mysterious and delightfully obnoxious. The end, in comparison, was unfortunately rather muddled: too much happening at once, and then that big jump forward in time, which I think didn't service the story very well at all. I'd have greatly preferred if the book had ended with Conrad getting to go off to school, rather than with him going, "Well, it's many years later and I'm back from school, where I became AWESOME." Like this book's set-up in comparison to its payoff, the anticipation was better.
Still, this was fun enough to make me want to reread this series—in order, from the beginning!—sometime soon.
253. Batman: Dark Victory, Jeph Loeb — A story set early in Batman’s career, that includes one of the best explanations as to why quintessential loner Bruce Wayne decides to take in young Dick Grayson. (You know, of the ones that don’t belong in a pamphlet for NAMBLA.) I found all the mafia stuff rather boring, though, which is usually my reaction to mafia stuff. (I’ve seen The Godfather; it’s brilliant; what else do I need?) Loeb’s Batman continues to be about ten times more interesting than almost any others I’ve encountered, however.
254. Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes — Okay, first, can we pretend that this didn’t take me quite so ridiculously long to finish? Thanks. In exchange, I’ll admit that there’s probably not anything new or interesting I can say that would add to what’s already been said about Don Quixote. This review is going to be a couple of shallow thoughts strung together. Sorry. I’m too intimidated to even attempt anything more.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit I found this a bit of a slog. It’s more than 900 pages long, and parts of it—especially the first book—are very repetitive; lots of Don Quixote and/or Sancho Panza getting beaten up, poor guys. This translation also comes with about ten gazillion footnotes, most of which clarify something that didn’t need to be clarified—like giving the birth and death dates of an author referenced—and add nothing at all to the narrative. If I were to read this again (um. Give me twenty years at least), the first thing I would do differently is I would skip the footnotes entirely.
But I would also be lying if I didn’t say that parts of it were hilarious and awesome and great. Sancho’s long strings of aphorisms and sayings frequently cracked me up, as did much of the meta-humor—Cervantes making fun of the unauthorized sequel to the first book that came out before the second was published, and so on. And there were several sequences, most notably the one with Sancho as governor, that delighted me.
I was a bit disappointed by the ending, mostly because I had heard it talked up by so many people. Frankly, I like mad Don Quixote much more than the sane version, so the effect for me was kind of like the last few minutes of the Disney Beauty and the Beast: “All that, and she’s stuck with some poncy blond guy?” Yeah, Disney’s Beauty and the Beast—that’s obviously exactly what Don Quixote is like! Suck of that piece of analysis, Harold Bloom!
255. A Wild Sheep Chase, Haruki Murakami — Well, this is certainly the weirdest Murakami book I’ve read so far. It’s also one of the plottiest, centering, as the title would suggest, around a quest for a sheep. What the American edition of the book doesn’t mention is that it’s actually the third book in a trilogy, the first two volumes of which have been translated into English but aren’t available in the United States (Murakami doesn’t consider them to be his best work). This book actually stands fine on its own, but since I know that there were two books that came before it, I can’t help feeling like there are nuances that I am missing. Oh, ignorance—are you indeed bliss?
This book amused and intrigued me, even though it didn’t move me like other examples of Murakami’s work have. (Definite points for range, though, don’t you think?) The resolution is somewhat frustrating, but there is a sequel, Dance Dance Dance, which will hopefully help with that. In the meantime, I will continue to feel vaguely creeped out by the Sheep Man. (Bad furry place! Bad furry place!) Yikes.
256. Turnabout, Margaret Peterson Haddix — There’s a long afterword at the back of this book about the Real Science ™ Haddix used as the basis for the story. Even if there’s a kernel of truth in the premise—preventing certain chromosomes from shrinking could stop and even reverse aging—the way science is dealt with in this novel makes the ideas seem less plausible than exploding tumors. Amelia and Annabeth are two senior citizens who are injected, sort of without their consent, with a new anti-aging formula, developed by a scientist who’s only tested the formula on one group of rats. When the formula has some unforeseen side effects, the scientist’s partner is furious that she was lied to about how many other studies were done. Then two scenes later, she marries him. Amelia and Annabeth have no hard feelings and happily attend the wedding. Okay then!
All of this happens within the first 50 pages or so, but it sets the tone for the book, which is full of nonsensical, bizarre things happening and people reacting to them in bizarre, nonsensical ways. And for all that, almost nothing actually occurs in the whole book. Amelia and Annabeth spend most of the narrative thinking that a) they are being hunted by sinister forces and that b) they might be able to find some answer to their predicament. By the end, it turns out that a) they haven’t been and b) they won’t so they should just chill and hope for the best. Most of the story takes place in Kentucky, but Alaska may have been a more appropriate setting: it’s the book to nowhere.
This isn’t the worst novel I’ve ever read—far from. But it’s just dumb, and I find myself having less and less patience for dumb books.
257, 258, 260, 262, 265-270. Transmetropolitan: Vol. 1-10, Warren Ellis — Okay, I have to take back all the mean things I said earlier this year about Warren Ellis. I still don’t get what the big deal with The Authority is, or why his runs on Iron Man or Hellblazer are so great, but this—this I get. This I love. Spider Jerusalem is fucked up and sexy and brilliant—my first real comics crush in years (and guys with too many tattoos are going to have a much better chance with me until it wears off, so thank Ellis for that, boys). Channon and Yelena, his filthy assistants, are awesome, too, so check check check, you’ve got real characters that change and grow. And plot! Fantastic plot! Not to mention pretty superb world-building—I believe in this weird, technologically explosive, still basically self-involved vision of the future. This was the fun and insightful political reading I was looking for earlier in the year, and it’s too bad I had to wait for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bmouse to practically smack me over the head with it, but you don’t have to make the same mistake! No! Go read it now!
259. The Salaryman’s Wife, Sujata Massey — A mystery I read because it’s set in Japan. There are some mildly interesting insights into Japanese culture, but as a mystery it’s pretty run of the mill and boring. The murderer is easily identifiable both by being the only character with a blatantly obvious false alibi, and through the “who’s the only character without any other role in the narrative?” method. All right, it’s true that the latter would be impossible for Rei, the progagonist, to use as a crime-solving tool, but I think the former might have given her a clue. Instead she “solves” the mystery when the murder tries to kill her. Brilliant deduction, Holmes!
Despite its faults as a truly mysterious mystery, I think I would have enjoyed this book more if Rei had been a more likeable and relatable character. But she seems to have such a negative outlook on everything that it’s not much fun to slump through 400-plus pages at her side. And her love interest was actively unpleasant. So much for reading more in this series; I will have to get my Japan fix elsewhere.
261. To Darkness and to Death, Julia Spencer-Fleming — Russ and Clare get the 24 treatment, with a mystery that takes place over one day and follows many characters. Way, way too many characters. I tended to get bored when the narrative stayed with Millers Kill Resident #4 too long, then perked up again when Russ or Clare came back on the scene. They're still a delight to read about, however, and the finale (asplosions!) is exciting. By far not the best book in the series, but still enough to keep me interested in continuing.
263. Twenty-Four Eyes, Sakae Tsuboi — A classic Japanese anti-war novel. The prose is frequently clunky—which may or may not be a translation issue, I don't know—but the story, which follows a young teacher in an isolated seaside village as she watches a group of her students grow up, is ultimately quite moving. Makes an interesting read if you're mostly only familiar with Allied views of World War II, or of American views on Japanese attitudes toward involvement—this novel constitutes a marked departure from all that, being so staunchly pacifist.
264. Wrong About Japan, Peter Carey — I'm really not sure what Carey was trying to accomplish with this book. He goes to Japan with his preteen son, who's a big manga and anime fan, and has his agent hook him up with interviews with lots of big names in the manga/anime world. Along the way he spouts a lot of pretentious theories about what the "real Japan" is. The Japanese people he interviews then tell him they think he's wrong. So Carey shrugs and concludes that Japan is unknowable. I think.
Okay, fine, I agree that it's nigh-impossible to ever know a foreign country like a native. Even natives might have a hard time defining what the "real Country X" is. (See the recent election for evidence that politicians have no idea what the "real America" consists of, but are sure willing to argue about it a lot.) However, in researching and writing this book, Carey got to go to JAPAN. That's really freakin' cool! He got to meet Hayao Miyazaki! Cool, right? But Carey doesn't seem to get enjoyment out of any of this. Nor does he really describe his surroundings much: for much of the book, he might as well have been interviewing these manga and anime gods at a Country Inn & Suites off the highway in Poughkeepsie. It's like all the energy and excitement of manga and anime and a trip to JAPAN went into the book's vibrant design (woo, Chip Kidd!) and not into the writing.
I didn't learn anything from this book, except that Carey is kind of a downer on vacations.
Total Reviews: 270/283
And why not another Yuletide rec for good measure? NyQuil, Succubi, and Other Tall Tales (Tanya Huff's Smoke books, Lee/Tony). So much fun!
251. A Monstrous Regiment of Women, Laurie R. King — Well, it took more than a year, but King sucked me back in. I think I needed something to take the taste of John R. King's (no relation?) The Shadow of Reichenbach Falls out of my mouth; in comparison to that novel, this one is masterful. I enjoyed this much more than the previous book in the series, too, mostly because Watson is only in one scene, which leaves King very little opportunity to write him badly. Woo! The pacing is tighter, too, as this novel takes places over just a couple of months, rather than years. And I have to admit, I do enjoy the chemistry between Russell and Holmes. To give King her due, she understands exactly what's sexy about him: the wonderful combination of fierce intelligence and physical grace and deep, deep repression. Yum!
I have to say, these are so far by far the best-written Holmes pastiches I've read. I only wish there were some well-written ones that gave Watson the respect he deserves (and maybe even a good storyline!).
252. Conrad’s Fate, Diana Wynne Jones — I haven't read any of the Chrestomanci books since I was quite wee; I'm not sure what made me want to pick this one up now, but it was enjoyable even with a blurred memory of the context of the rest of the series. I enjoyed the first half of the book the best, when Conrad has no idea what's going on and Christopher gets to be cocky and mysterious and delightfully obnoxious. The end, in comparison, was unfortunately rather muddled: too much happening at once, and then that big jump forward in time, which I think didn't service the story very well at all. I'd have greatly preferred if the book had ended with Conrad getting to go off to school, rather than with him going, "Well, it's many years later and I'm back from school, where I became AWESOME." Like this book's set-up in comparison to its payoff, the anticipation was better.
Still, this was fun enough to make me want to reread this series—in order, from the beginning!—sometime soon.
253. Batman: Dark Victory, Jeph Loeb — A story set early in Batman’s career, that includes one of the best explanations as to why quintessential loner Bruce Wayne decides to take in young Dick Grayson. (You know, of the ones that don’t belong in a pamphlet for NAMBLA.) I found all the mafia stuff rather boring, though, which is usually my reaction to mafia stuff. (I’ve seen The Godfather; it’s brilliant; what else do I need?) Loeb’s Batman continues to be about ten times more interesting than almost any others I’ve encountered, however.
254. Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes — Okay, first, can we pretend that this didn’t take me quite so ridiculously long to finish? Thanks. In exchange, I’ll admit that there’s probably not anything new or interesting I can say that would add to what’s already been said about Don Quixote. This review is going to be a couple of shallow thoughts strung together. Sorry. I’m too intimidated to even attempt anything more.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit I found this a bit of a slog. It’s more than 900 pages long, and parts of it—especially the first book—are very repetitive; lots of Don Quixote and/or Sancho Panza getting beaten up, poor guys. This translation also comes with about ten gazillion footnotes, most of which clarify something that didn’t need to be clarified—like giving the birth and death dates of an author referenced—and add nothing at all to the narrative. If I were to read this again (um. Give me twenty years at least), the first thing I would do differently is I would skip the footnotes entirely.
But I would also be lying if I didn’t say that parts of it were hilarious and awesome and great. Sancho’s long strings of aphorisms and sayings frequently cracked me up, as did much of the meta-humor—Cervantes making fun of the unauthorized sequel to the first book that came out before the second was published, and so on. And there were several sequences, most notably the one with Sancho as governor, that delighted me.
I was a bit disappointed by the ending, mostly because I had heard it talked up by so many people. Frankly, I like mad Don Quixote much more than the sane version, so the effect for me was kind of like the last few minutes of the Disney Beauty and the Beast: “All that, and she’s stuck with some poncy blond guy?” Yeah, Disney’s Beauty and the Beast—that’s obviously exactly what Don Quixote is like! Suck of that piece of analysis, Harold Bloom!
255. A Wild Sheep Chase, Haruki Murakami — Well, this is certainly the weirdest Murakami book I’ve read so far. It’s also one of the plottiest, centering, as the title would suggest, around a quest for a sheep. What the American edition of the book doesn’t mention is that it’s actually the third book in a trilogy, the first two volumes of which have been translated into English but aren’t available in the United States (Murakami doesn’t consider them to be his best work). This book actually stands fine on its own, but since I know that there were two books that came before it, I can’t help feeling like there are nuances that I am missing. Oh, ignorance—are you indeed bliss?
This book amused and intrigued me, even though it didn’t move me like other examples of Murakami’s work have. (Definite points for range, though, don’t you think?) The resolution is somewhat frustrating, but there is a sequel, Dance Dance Dance, which will hopefully help with that. In the meantime, I will continue to feel vaguely creeped out by the Sheep Man. (Bad furry place! Bad furry place!) Yikes.
256. Turnabout, Margaret Peterson Haddix — There’s a long afterword at the back of this book about the Real Science ™ Haddix used as the basis for the story. Even if there’s a kernel of truth in the premise—preventing certain chromosomes from shrinking could stop and even reverse aging—the way science is dealt with in this novel makes the ideas seem less plausible than exploding tumors. Amelia and Annabeth are two senior citizens who are injected, sort of without their consent, with a new anti-aging formula, developed by a scientist who’s only tested the formula on one group of rats. When the formula has some unforeseen side effects, the scientist’s partner is furious that she was lied to about how many other studies were done. Then two scenes later, she marries him. Amelia and Annabeth have no hard feelings and happily attend the wedding. Okay then!
All of this happens within the first 50 pages or so, but it sets the tone for the book, which is full of nonsensical, bizarre things happening and people reacting to them in bizarre, nonsensical ways. And for all that, almost nothing actually occurs in the whole book. Amelia and Annabeth spend most of the narrative thinking that a) they are being hunted by sinister forces and that b) they might be able to find some answer to their predicament. By the end, it turns out that a) they haven’t been and b) they won’t so they should just chill and hope for the best. Most of the story takes place in Kentucky, but Alaska may have been a more appropriate setting: it’s the book to nowhere.
This isn’t the worst novel I’ve ever read—far from. But it’s just dumb, and I find myself having less and less patience for dumb books.
257, 258, 260, 262, 265-270. Transmetropolitan: Vol. 1-10, Warren Ellis — Okay, I have to take back all the mean things I said earlier this year about Warren Ellis. I still don’t get what the big deal with The Authority is, or why his runs on Iron Man or Hellblazer are so great, but this—this I get. This I love. Spider Jerusalem is fucked up and sexy and brilliant—my first real comics crush in years (and guys with too many tattoos are going to have a much better chance with me until it wears off, so thank Ellis for that, boys). Channon and Yelena, his filthy assistants, are awesome, too, so check check check, you’ve got real characters that change and grow. And plot! Fantastic plot! Not to mention pretty superb world-building—I believe in this weird, technologically explosive, still basically self-involved vision of the future. This was the fun and insightful political reading I was looking for earlier in the year, and it’s too bad I had to wait for
bmouse to practically smack me over the head with it, but you don’t have to make the same mistake! No! Go read it now!259. The Salaryman’s Wife, Sujata Massey — A mystery I read because it’s set in Japan. There are some mildly interesting insights into Japanese culture, but as a mystery it’s pretty run of the mill and boring. The murderer is easily identifiable both by being the only character with a blatantly obvious false alibi, and through the “who’s the only character without any other role in the narrative?” method. All right, it’s true that the latter would be impossible for Rei, the progagonist, to use as a crime-solving tool, but I think the former might have given her a clue. Instead she “solves” the mystery when the murder tries to kill her. Brilliant deduction, Holmes!
Despite its faults as a truly mysterious mystery, I think I would have enjoyed this book more if Rei had been a more likeable and relatable character. But she seems to have such a negative outlook on everything that it’s not much fun to slump through 400-plus pages at her side. And her love interest was actively unpleasant. So much for reading more in this series; I will have to get my Japan fix elsewhere.
261. To Darkness and to Death, Julia Spencer-Fleming — Russ and Clare get the 24 treatment, with a mystery that takes place over one day and follows many characters. Way, way too many characters. I tended to get bored when the narrative stayed with Millers Kill Resident #4 too long, then perked up again when Russ or Clare came back on the scene. They're still a delight to read about, however, and the finale (asplosions!) is exciting. By far not the best book in the series, but still enough to keep me interested in continuing.
263. Twenty-Four Eyes, Sakae Tsuboi — A classic Japanese anti-war novel. The prose is frequently clunky—which may or may not be a translation issue, I don't know—but the story, which follows a young teacher in an isolated seaside village as she watches a group of her students grow up, is ultimately quite moving. Makes an interesting read if you're mostly only familiar with Allied views of World War II, or of American views on Japanese attitudes toward involvement—this novel constitutes a marked departure from all that, being so staunchly pacifist.
264. Wrong About Japan, Peter Carey — I'm really not sure what Carey was trying to accomplish with this book. He goes to Japan with his preteen son, who's a big manga and anime fan, and has his agent hook him up with interviews with lots of big names in the manga/anime world. Along the way he spouts a lot of pretentious theories about what the "real Japan" is. The Japanese people he interviews then tell him they think he's wrong. So Carey shrugs and concludes that Japan is unknowable. I think.
Okay, fine, I agree that it's nigh-impossible to ever know a foreign country like a native. Even natives might have a hard time defining what the "real Country X" is. (See the recent election for evidence that politicians have no idea what the "real America" consists of, but are sure willing to argue about it a lot.) However, in researching and writing this book, Carey got to go to JAPAN. That's really freakin' cool! He got to meet Hayao Miyazaki! Cool, right? But Carey doesn't seem to get enjoyment out of any of this. Nor does he really describe his surroundings much: for much of the book, he might as well have been interviewing these manga and anime gods at a Country Inn & Suites off the highway in Poughkeepsie. It's like all the energy and excitement of manga and anime and a trip to JAPAN went into the book's vibrant design (woo, Chip Kidd!) and not into the writing.
I didn't learn anything from this book, except that Carey is kind of a downer on vacations.
Total Reviews: 270/283
And why not another Yuletide rec for good measure? NyQuil, Succubi, and Other Tall Tales (Tanya Huff's Smoke books, Lee/Tony). So much fun!
