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trinityofone) wrote2010-12-13 01:52 pm
trinityofone) wrote2010-12-13 01:52 pm
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Booklog of a Wimpy Kid
Faced with the choice between writing some booklog and doing dishes, I chose booklog.
51. An Angel For Emily, Jude Deveraux — This is the book that I (not-so-)famously threw at the wall, as described here. Though, in fairness, that was really a matter of proximity more than especial malice. Don’t get me wrong: this book is bad. But it’s sort of forgettably bad—to the point where I have, for the most part, forgotten it. All that’s left is a vague memory of badness, lingering on the (otherwise spotless!) walls of my mind like soap scum.
I think it was mostly typical bad romance novel badness: ooky gender roles, dull and at times incomprehensible plot, characters who are too dumb to live. I read it because it’s about an angel and a human who fall in lurv, and at the time I was still rocking that narrative kink like whoa, but this book utterly failed to satisfy it. Emily is dumb as a chipped brick and Michael is really, really boring for an angel; to top off this dull cake with some disinterested frosting, their happy ending consists of him turning human but without either of them remembering that he was ever anything else. Oh, and Emily also has a ridiculously over-the-top evil politician fiancé to get in the happy couple’s way at strategically relevant points. And there are ghosts, or something. I swear, even full-length and (apparently) fully-realized, this book made no more sense than this summary.
So I think I’ll just proceed to forget its contents the rest of the way—Deveraux does appear to consider that a happy ending, after all. From now on, it will simply be known as The Book I Threw at a Wall.
52. The Devil and Sherlock Holmes, David Grann — Terrific collection of investigative essays on topics ranging from murdered Sherlockian scholars to giant squid. I loved Grann’s full-length nonfiction book, The Lost City of Z, and as he did in that work, Grann once again proves his skills at plumbing the depths of obsession with these fascinating short pieces. If you’re obsessed with obsession (as I am), you will easily become enthralled by this book.
53. The Talisman Ring, Georgette Heyer — Enjoyable Heyer romp, containing neither as much crossdressing fun as The Masqueraders, nor as much dull ickiness as These Old Shades. As seems to frequently be the case in Heyer novels, there are two couples, and one is significantly more interesting than the other; as is also often the case, there is a naive young woman who is supposed to seem charming but isn’t, and one or more men whom we are meant to believe are straight, but instead seem really, really gay. One comes away with a rather odd view of the eighteenth century, reading these books.
I think Heyer would be a fun author to find on the shelves of a picturesque lakeside cabin rental, when you have nothing expected of you besides lying out in the sun, swimming, and eating fresh berry pies. Sadly, since my life looks nothing like that, it will probably be a while before I reach for another one of her books.
54. Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Jeff Kinney — Really? All you youngwhippersnappers kids are obsessing over this? I do not get it. This slight little story, told half in prose and half in cartoons, seems to my elderly eyes to be a) not funny, and b) an exercise in unpleasantness. Greg, the wimpy kid of the title, is consistently nasty to his brothers, best friend, parents, and classmates; the rest of the narrative involves said brothers, best friend, parents, and classmates being nasty to Greg. What a wonderful view of the world!
I suppose it’s possible it’s a realistic one, but I guess in all honesty I have never been much of a fan of realism in children’s literature. My favorite books when I was young all involved plucky youths having magical or scientific adventures (C.S. Lewis, E. Nesbit, Edward Eager, Madeline L’Engle, William Sleator), or having to face unusual challenges (The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle stands out for me, along with anything by Laura Ingalls Wilder), or, you know, actually doing stuff (Harriet the Spy, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, Noel Streatfeild’s Shoes books; hell, even freakin’ Nancy Drew). Greg goes to school and is nasty to people; then he comes home and is nasty to people. And fine: maybe that is like life. But what’s the point of fiction—especially children’s fiction—if we can’t aspire to something better?
55. Written Lives, Javier Marías — Whenever I explain this book to someone, I always start with the story of the time Malcolm Lowry punched a horse. Apparently, Lowry—best known as the author of Under the Volcano—got so upset about something, he hauled off and slugged a horse in the face. (The horse crumpled to its knees but was otherwise all right; Lowry burst into tears.) Lowry didn't have the best luck with animals in general, it seems: there's also an anecdote in here about how he once broke the neck of a bunny he was attempting to caress; distraught, he carried the little bunny corpse around with him for days, until the odor became rather pungent.
If you like odd, darkly amusing biographical sketches about a variety of famous authors, then you, too, will get so excited over this book that you'll want to go out and punch a horse. Marías is witty and subtly cutting, though also not unsympathetic; as he says in his introduction, there are really only two authors in this book he failed to find affection for: Yukio Mishima and James Joyce. (For the scoop on Mishima, see the insanity that is Patriotism; as for Joyce...James, far be it for me to say that anyone's kink is not okay, but dude. Ew.)
This book will make you want to read the works of all these authors, as well as everything Marías has ever written. But which first? Augh, all these angsty writers were right: life is hard.
56. Hex Hall, Rachel Hawkins — I can tell you precisely when this book won me over: page 8. Our heroine, teen witch Sophie, has just discovered her classmate, Felicia, crying in the bathroom at the prom, so she—kind of for the heck of it—decides to cast a love spell and make Kevin, the boy of Felicia's dreams, fall in love with her. Only the spell gets out of control and Kevin falls crazy in love with her, to the point where Felicia feels the need to blast pepper spray at his face. And there we are, at the top of page 8, with Felicia fleeing from the blinded Kevin. “It's okay, baby!” he shouted after her. “I don't need eyes to see you! I see you with the eyes of my heart, Felicia! My HEART!”
Ahahahahahaha oh thank god. Finally a YA fantasy/romance/what-have-you with a sense of humor! This book isn't high art by any means, but it's spooky and amusing and entertaining and fun. That is what I read books like this for. Hawkins has that magic ingredient that so many of her fellow authors lack; because of this I will, for once, be waiting eagerly for the sequel.
57. I Know I Am, But What Are You?, Samantha Bee — Samantha Bee has never been my favorite Daily Show correspondent, or even probably in my top five. I picked this up becauseit was free I like The Daily Show as a whole enough to be interested in almost anything its people put out; I expected it to be vaguely amusing at best. To my surprise and delight, Bee’s book is actually really funny, a deeply amusing comedic memoir about growing up strange and Canadian (a combination I most enjoy). I literally LOL’d at several points—not something that is common for me, as I have perfected a fairly stable Reading In Public face. Also, the parts about Bee and her fellow Daily Show correspondent Jason Jones are really cute; I think I kind of ship them now. Which is convenient, because they are married.
This is definitely a humor section standout, and if you were hesitating for any reason—like the fact that there are a billion similar-looking books by minor comedic figures, and any of them can put on a bee costume for their book cover, but that doesn’t mean said book will be funny—hesitate no more. Bee costumes are only the beginning.
58. The Hole We’re In, Gabrielle Zevin — A look at the financial crisis through the eyes of one family. This was a faster, punchier, and much less literary take on material similar to that covered by Adam Haslett’s Union Atlantic; frankly, I prefer Zevin’s version. Her characters occasionally stray close to caricature—the dad is particularly over-the-top—but the emotion Zevin evokes through them is real. I was also impressed by the way Zevin tied the financial crisis into other issues affecting this country, such as military policy and women’s reproductive rights. This sounds like heavy stuff (and it is), but The Hole We’re In is so fast-paced, and so character-driven, that you’ll gulp it down—and then have plenty of time to let Zevin’s ideas linger, to digest. This book deserves more attention than it appears to be getting.
59. Tokyo Vice, Jake Adelstein — Compelling look at Japanese culture, the Japanese underworld, and Japanese journalistic practices through the eyes of an American reporter who worked for a major publication in Tokyo until his work brought him under fire from the yakuza. The yakuza thing seems like the major hook, but it wasn’t for me: Adelstein’s day to day work at the paper, his struggles as a foreigner in a place not terribly open to foreigners, and his insights into Japanese culture and tradition—which he seems to truly seek understanding of and respect—were what really drew me to this book. Adelstein isn’t what I’d call brutally honest—there are clearly things he withholds—but he’s not self-aggrandizing, either. (Read his review of his own book for a general sense of the tone.) This is both a solid, interesting true crime book, and a solid, interesting book about Japan.
60. Voyage Along the Horizon, Javier Marías — One of Marías’ earlier, and from the examples of his work I’ve read so far, more disjointed novels. And yet: still this is sort of irrepressibly charming. I think, like the voyage of the title, Marías’ work tends to be more about the journey and less about the destination.
Total Reviews: 60/201
51. An Angel For Emily, Jude Deveraux — This is the book that I (not-so-)famously threw at the wall, as described here. Though, in fairness, that was really a matter of proximity more than especial malice. Don’t get me wrong: this book is bad. But it’s sort of forgettably bad—to the point where I have, for the most part, forgotten it. All that’s left is a vague memory of badness, lingering on the (otherwise spotless!) walls of my mind like soap scum.
I think it was mostly typical bad romance novel badness: ooky gender roles, dull and at times incomprehensible plot, characters who are too dumb to live. I read it because it’s about an angel and a human who fall in lurv, and at the time I was still rocking that narrative kink like whoa, but this book utterly failed to satisfy it. Emily is dumb as a chipped brick and Michael is really, really boring for an angel; to top off this dull cake with some disinterested frosting, their happy ending consists of him turning human but without either of them remembering that he was ever anything else. Oh, and Emily also has a ridiculously over-the-top evil politician fiancé to get in the happy couple’s way at strategically relevant points. And there are ghosts, or something. I swear, even full-length and (apparently) fully-realized, this book made no more sense than this summary.
So I think I’ll just proceed to forget its contents the rest of the way—Deveraux does appear to consider that a happy ending, after all. From now on, it will simply be known as The Book I Threw at a Wall.
52. The Devil and Sherlock Holmes, David Grann — Terrific collection of investigative essays on topics ranging from murdered Sherlockian scholars to giant squid. I loved Grann’s full-length nonfiction book, The Lost City of Z, and as he did in that work, Grann once again proves his skills at plumbing the depths of obsession with these fascinating short pieces. If you’re obsessed with obsession (as I am), you will easily become enthralled by this book.
53. The Talisman Ring, Georgette Heyer — Enjoyable Heyer romp, containing neither as much crossdressing fun as The Masqueraders, nor as much dull ickiness as These Old Shades. As seems to frequently be the case in Heyer novels, there are two couples, and one is significantly more interesting than the other; as is also often the case, there is a naive young woman who is supposed to seem charming but isn’t, and one or more men whom we are meant to believe are straight, but instead seem really, really gay. One comes away with a rather odd view of the eighteenth century, reading these books.
I think Heyer would be a fun author to find on the shelves of a picturesque lakeside cabin rental, when you have nothing expected of you besides lying out in the sun, swimming, and eating fresh berry pies. Sadly, since my life looks nothing like that, it will probably be a while before I reach for another one of her books.
54. Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Jeff Kinney — Really? All you young
I suppose it’s possible it’s a realistic one, but I guess in all honesty I have never been much of a fan of realism in children’s literature. My favorite books when I was young all involved plucky youths having magical or scientific adventures (C.S. Lewis, E. Nesbit, Edward Eager, Madeline L’Engle, William Sleator), or having to face unusual challenges (The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle stands out for me, along with anything by Laura Ingalls Wilder), or, you know, actually doing stuff (Harriet the Spy, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, Noel Streatfeild’s Shoes books; hell, even freakin’ Nancy Drew). Greg goes to school and is nasty to people; then he comes home and is nasty to people. And fine: maybe that is like life. But what’s the point of fiction—especially children’s fiction—if we can’t aspire to something better?
55. Written Lives, Javier Marías — Whenever I explain this book to someone, I always start with the story of the time Malcolm Lowry punched a horse. Apparently, Lowry—best known as the author of Under the Volcano—got so upset about something, he hauled off and slugged a horse in the face. (The horse crumpled to its knees but was otherwise all right; Lowry burst into tears.) Lowry didn't have the best luck with animals in general, it seems: there's also an anecdote in here about how he once broke the neck of a bunny he was attempting to caress; distraught, he carried the little bunny corpse around with him for days, until the odor became rather pungent.
If you like odd, darkly amusing biographical sketches about a variety of famous authors, then you, too, will get so excited over this book that you'll want to go out and punch a horse. Marías is witty and subtly cutting, though also not unsympathetic; as he says in his introduction, there are really only two authors in this book he failed to find affection for: Yukio Mishima and James Joyce. (For the scoop on Mishima, see the insanity that is Patriotism; as for Joyce...James, far be it for me to say that anyone's kink is not okay, but dude. Ew.)
This book will make you want to read the works of all these authors, as well as everything Marías has ever written. But which first? Augh, all these angsty writers were right: life is hard.
56. Hex Hall, Rachel Hawkins — I can tell you precisely when this book won me over: page 8. Our heroine, teen witch Sophie, has just discovered her classmate, Felicia, crying in the bathroom at the prom, so she—kind of for the heck of it—decides to cast a love spell and make Kevin, the boy of Felicia's dreams, fall in love with her. Only the spell gets out of control and Kevin falls crazy in love with her, to the point where Felicia feels the need to blast pepper spray at his face. And there we are, at the top of page 8, with Felicia fleeing from the blinded Kevin. “It's okay, baby!” he shouted after her. “I don't need eyes to see you! I see you with the eyes of my heart, Felicia! My HEART!”
Ahahahahahaha oh thank god. Finally a YA fantasy/romance/what-have-you with a sense of humor! This book isn't high art by any means, but it's spooky and amusing and entertaining and fun. That is what I read books like this for. Hawkins has that magic ingredient that so many of her fellow authors lack; because of this I will, for once, be waiting eagerly for the sequel.
57. I Know I Am, But What Are You?, Samantha Bee — Samantha Bee has never been my favorite Daily Show correspondent, or even probably in my top five. I picked this up because
This is definitely a humor section standout, and if you were hesitating for any reason—like the fact that there are a billion similar-looking books by minor comedic figures, and any of them can put on a bee costume for their book cover, but that doesn’t mean said book will be funny—hesitate no more. Bee costumes are only the beginning.
58. The Hole We’re In, Gabrielle Zevin — A look at the financial crisis through the eyes of one family. This was a faster, punchier, and much less literary take on material similar to that covered by Adam Haslett’s Union Atlantic; frankly, I prefer Zevin’s version. Her characters occasionally stray close to caricature—the dad is particularly over-the-top—but the emotion Zevin evokes through them is real. I was also impressed by the way Zevin tied the financial crisis into other issues affecting this country, such as military policy and women’s reproductive rights. This sounds like heavy stuff (and it is), but The Hole We’re In is so fast-paced, and so character-driven, that you’ll gulp it down—and then have plenty of time to let Zevin’s ideas linger, to digest. This book deserves more attention than it appears to be getting.
59. Tokyo Vice, Jake Adelstein — Compelling look at Japanese culture, the Japanese underworld, and Japanese journalistic practices through the eyes of an American reporter who worked for a major publication in Tokyo until his work brought him under fire from the yakuza. The yakuza thing seems like the major hook, but it wasn’t for me: Adelstein’s day to day work at the paper, his struggles as a foreigner in a place not terribly open to foreigners, and his insights into Japanese culture and tradition—which he seems to truly seek understanding of and respect—were what really drew me to this book. Adelstein isn’t what I’d call brutally honest—there are clearly things he withholds—but he’s not self-aggrandizing, either. (Read his review of his own book for a general sense of the tone.) This is both a solid, interesting true crime book, and a solid, interesting book about Japan.
60. Voyage Along the Horizon, Javier Marías — One of Marías’ earlier, and from the examples of his work I’ve read so far, more disjointed novels. And yet: still this is sort of irrepressibly charming. I think, like the voyage of the title, Marías’ work tends to be more about the journey and less about the destination.
Total Reviews: 60/201
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And I didn't realize Diary of a Wimpy Kid was so bad. My little brother reads it all the time. Maybe I should start subtly throwing CS Lewis or at least decent comics at his head as a hint for him to read better books?
(Speaking of CS Lewis - this is really, REALLY random but have you seen the movie that just came out? I'm kind of on a crusade to find people to tell me how good it was before I can go out and see it myself. SO EXCITED.)
Sorry for the tl;dr, I'm procrastinating on doing actual work. Subjecting people to my babbling is cathartic.
no subject
Haha, this describes me so exactly! I think you would definitely get a kick out of the book.
Diary of a Wimpy Kid—it's not that it's so bad, it's that it's nothing. Totally empty. I wouldn't decry the series as evil, but I'd definitely try to work some better books into kids' hands.
Voyage of the Dawn Treader is my favorite Narnia book, but I have heard that the movie is...not so great. I don't know; I'm scared. It's my favorite and I don't want to see it represented poorly. Reepicheep! Edmund! EUSTACE!
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But so long as he reads the Diaries I have a totally valid reason to throw books at his head, right? I am not looking that gift horse in the mouth.
Voyage of the Dawn Treader is my favourite, too. (Actually, I think now that I'm older if I saw The Silver Chair again I'd appreciate it a lot more. When I was a kid, the BBC version we had on tape really freaked me out.) Is it really getting bad reviews? You'd think that would be the one you'd have difficulty messing up ... epic quests to sundry islands! Ships on the high seas! Dragons! Magic fountains! It should be awesome by proxy.
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The Silver Chair was my favorite for many years, but as I got older, that switched back to Dawn Treader. I still love the quest plot in The Silver Chair, and the underworld and Puddleglum, but Eustace and Jill don't actually really do much of anything in that book; Dawn Treader is more satisfying to me now. And it has one of my favorite lines: You were only an ass, but I was a traitor. Not to mention: There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.
You'd think that would be the one you'd have difficulty messing up ... epic quests to sundry islands! Ships on the high seas! Dragons! Magic fountains! It should be awesome by proxy.
I know! And yet...the reviews I've read, and the one friend who's seen it, have not been positive.
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I remember how amused by that I was the first time I read it :) Poor Eustace.
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I can understand the desire to put better literature in kids' hands, but forcing them to read something leaves you with a kid who hates to read and who won't be as good as they could be if they still found reading to be a fun activity. Just my two cents.
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