Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline (2011)

Picked up on a recommendation from a friend. Sort of mildly dystopic near-future sci-fi tale. The whole vibe of the plot felt like a mix between Scalzi and Crichton. 

The Facts

Length: 372 pages.

Publisher: Crown Publishers.

This is Cline's first novel.

Quick Summary

In the year 2044, protagonist Wade Watts lives most of his life in a broken down van underneath a stack of decrepit car parts, passing by on food stamps gained from fixing broken computers. The rest of the world isn't much better, torn up by irreparable environmental damage and the economy in ruins. The only salvation is OASIS, the universal virtual reality that nearly the entire world plugs into in order to escape their dismal surroundings.

When the enigmatic and mysterious founder of OASIS, James Halliday, dies, he leaves total control of OASIS to whoever can attain his hidden "Easter Egg." Our protagonist stumbles upon the first clue, and it's up to him and his slightly-competitive mix of companions to fend off those necessarily evil corporate interests with a will to kill! (Dundundun)


The story is told in retrospective first-person. 

The Good

Definitely a page-turner. The earlier part of the novel is absolutely enthralling, and Cline doesn't do much to halt the suspense. After all, the novel's basic plot revolves around coded messages and trying to find secret passageways and dungeons - what's not to like? It follows to a T the (tried and true) videogame formula, but Cline almost effortlessly ports it to the world of literature.

The Call Me Maybe
I'm still not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing: Cline definitely will find an audience among "geeks." Which isn't too surprising, considering he wrote the 2009 flick Fanboys. The novel's basis for this is Halliday's obsession with 1980s pop culture (revolving around sci-fi/fantasy film, videogames, and Dungeons and Dragons). To find the Easter Egg, the world dives back into the archives of the 1980s to search for a clues, hints, or meaning behind Halliday's coded words. As readers, we'll love the parts we get - for me, it was the Dungeons and Dragons "stage" of finding the key - but we'll merely enjoy the parts we don't ("Huh?" we'll think. "Blade Runner? Yeah, I guess I need to see that."). It's not a terrible book if you don't understand the references, but it's main strength lies in the understanding that you, the reader, knows what the hell Wade's talking about.

So take a look. I definitely was missing out on almost 99% of this list, and I still thought the novel an intriguing read. But if references that go over your head make you woozy, then you might want to study up before attempting this novel.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ready_Player_One#Pop_culture_references_in_the_novel

(On a side note, one side effect of reading this novel is that you'll want to get into the above list. I'm working on watching fantasy films of the 1980s and they are amazingly weird).

The Bad

We're told from the dust-jacket that Wade will have to "face up to life in the real world" in order to unlock the Easter Egg's mystery, but the real-world scenes are hard to digest. Don't think that there's any major character building going on in this book.

Wade Watts is relatable in the sense that life is astoundingly terrible. But he can never quite become that heroic character that I think Cline was trying to make him. There's a part where Wade puts on his sunglasses (not really) and infiltrates the bad guys in order to execute a master plan to save them all, but that whole section falls flat on its face. It's incredibly tough to believe that Wade, sort of a fumbling character up to this point, is able to become a sort of secret super-spy. Cline wants to reinforce the fact that reality is hardly perfect or beautiful (behind the computer screens, almost every good guy is "uglier" or "defective" than their avatars) - yet here we have Wade become exactly that: perfect, intelligent, beautiful (he buffs up before he pulls his stunt).

The romance subplot left a bad taste in my mouth. The "relationship" between Art3mis and Parzival (Samantha and Wade) felt incredibly bland. Boy meets girl online, falls violently in love with the idea of her. "Get a kiss and omgosh is soo perfect. I luv u just the way u are bb." ARRRRG. Art3mis's reactions are interesting - she's a little bit defensive about the whole idea - but her defensiveness ultimately feeds off her low self-esteem rather than any real intelligence or rationality. And that ruined it for me.

Final Thoughts

Don't let the numbers fool you (or the number of words, I guess). I liked this book. It's strengths more than make up for its weaknesses. Just don't go expecting any great character study or insight into human interaction - it's a fun novel, a summer read for those who'd rather stay inside.

Arbitrary Score: 3.8 out of 5.

Next book: Freedom: A Novel, by Jonathan Franzen (2010)

The Bishop's Man: A Novel, by Linden MacIntyre (2009)

This was a blind take from the library. Had no clue what I was getting into. Surprisingly good.

The Facts

Length: 399 pages.

Publisher: Random House Canada.

This is MacIntyre's second novel.

Quick Summary

Duncan MacAskill is a Catholic priest who plays the role of the bishop's "internal affairs." He's spent his past life punishing and moving around "problem individuals" in the priesthood. During the 1990s, however, when the media starts to get wind of a scandal close to Duncan, the bishop sends him to an abandoned parish, painfully close to Duncan's childhood home. Instead of escape, Duncan finds pain, confusion, and tragedy. The novel centralizes on the separation between the cloth and the man wearing it.

The story is told in first-person. MacIntyre "jumps" through time, quite a bit; it's easy to get lost in the back-and-forth-and-sideways timeline.

The Good

This novel is thoroughly "Canadian." Always a plus in my books. Along that line, MacIntyre's able to paint a tragically beautiful portrait of the Canadian Maritimes: decaying history, the flight of youth, the quiet landscape of a dying seaside town...MacIntyre clinches the setting in all the right spots. You can smell the tang of the sea in the air and can feel the cold of a lonely winter. The setting sets the tone for the moral uncertainty which seems to hang over the novel.

MacIntyre also seems to be pretty tactful when it comes to having a Catholic protagonist. I thought, initially, that MacAskill might be a little off-putting or overzealous, but the character never comes off that way. He's understandable and likable. He's a keen observer and gives good advice, but none of it seems to come from vague dogma or a stale religiosity. I didn't expect him to be as worldly and solid as he is. I'm not sure if this "secularity" will appeal to readers hopeful for a more religious novel, but it was surprisingly effective in my case.

The Bad

Timeline jumps make it somewhat hard to trace Duncan's past. Unless you're writing it all down (don't bother), you'll probably get a tad confused along the way. It never seems to be anything that effects the plot in any major way, but it'd be nice if MacIntyre was a little more linear in his progression of his storytelling.

The start of the novel is a little groan-worthy - you think that MacIntyre's trying a little too hard to be both a modernist and great writer. Sure, he keeps up with the modernist time jumps, but he seems to ease into the flow of the novel and drops the alien and off-putting descriptions pretty quickly, for the benefit of us all.

Final Thoughts

A surprisingly solid novel. Like Wolf Hall, it's given me more faith in literary awards. Hard to put down.

Arbitrary Score: 4.4 out of 5.

Next book: Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline (2011)

Wolf Hall, by Hilary Mantel (2009)

I've never heard of Mantel before. My own knowledge of Henry VIII and Thomas Cromwell is nil (unless we're counting my history class from Grade 8). The only experience I have with the novel's timeline is Crusader Kings II, so...


This novel is brilliant. It gives me faith in awards again (Wolf Hall won the 2009 Man Booker prize). But be forewarned, young reader: you will tire of pronouns. Very quickly.

The Facts

Length:  650 pages.

Publisher: Fourth Estate.

This is Mantel's twelfth novel.

Quick Summary

Historical novel which follows the rise to power of one Thomas Cromwell, blacksmith's son (1485-1535). The novel's central plot revolves around Anne Boleyn's marriage to England's King Henry VIII and subsequent fallout with the Catholic Church.

The story is told in third-person. Note: Mantel rarely, if ever, uses the name "Thomas Cromwell", instead opting for the vague and unspecific pronoun "he." A long novel at 650 pages, this can be a little tough to organize in one's head, especially when multiple male characters are involved in a scene. But my rule of thumb: when in doubt, "he" always refers to Cromwell. Mantel will make distinctions when it comes to other male characters. It's different, and a little off-putting, but the dedication pays off.

The Good

What's not to like? It's gritty, it's formal, it's kings and courts and all their noble failings. Mantel makes it incredibly easy to relate to Cromwell and the history behind his rise to power deliciously interesting. I want to go back to university and take a history major. I want to delve into archival footage (is that actually a thing) and research the beginnings of the Anglican Church. Mantel doesn't stress the romanticism of the age (as I'm wary other novels, like The Other Boleyn Girl, might) but rather underlines a great deal of subtle inner workings within the courtier system that influence the outcome Henry's decisions (to get married, to get the marriage annulled, to grant and remove favors...).

The Bad
Sure, the novel deals with the relationship between the Boleyn's integration into the royal court, but that history is somewhat resolved after two-thirds of the novel. So the novel lacks a definitive climax - one could argue, perhaps, that Thomas More's movement versus Thomas Cromwell's movement formed the main backdrop of conflict...but that's only a statement you could make once you've gotten to the ending. More always seems more of a fringe character to the narrative than anything else.

A lot of what spurred my interest was the hope that Cromwell would get married again, and maybe to Jane Seymour (if you know what happens to Seymour before reading this novel, I hope you're absolutely disgusted with my knowledge of the period). It would make sense, right? The novel's name is "Wolf Hall", named after the residence of the Seymour family - and yet absolutely none of the action takes place there. But Mantel leaves us hanging. 

Final Thoughts

An  unusual and modernistic system of pronoun usage slightly detracts from an otherwise brilliant historical novel. Recommended for those that have even a passing interest in the era, for those that play Crusader Kings II, and for anyone who can get past the incredible number of "he"s in this book.

Arbitrary Score: 4.8 out of 5.

The Year of the Flood: A Novel*, by Margaret Atwood (2009)

Atwood's a pretty thrilling author - this is the third of her novels I've read, and each one leaves me wanting more. I wasn't sure Oryx and Crake was planned as the first of a trilogy, but apparently The Year of the Flood is the second book of three. So: if you've read Oryx and Crake, and liked it, then yes, this continues that legacy. Poor advertising, though; only a small throwaway line on the back of the cover seems to note the connection between the two novels.

The Facts

Length: 431 pages.

Publisher: Vintage Canada.

This is Atwood's thirteenth novel. It is part two of three.

Quick Summary

Most of the novel travels through the flashbacks of Toby and Ren, "before the waterless flood." Ren is actually a minor character present in Oryx and Crake, but the character seemed to meld out of the narrative fold by the time I read The Year of the Flood. Regrettable: Ren's character actually picks up some steam by the time Flood ends, and now I'll have to re-read Oryx to examine Ren's influence on Jimmy's childhood.

Like its predecessor, this novel's narrative deals with the time leading up to the coming apocalypse, rather than the efforts to deal with the flood's consequences. If you're expecting The Road, you'll be disappointed. But we get a glimpse into the philosophy behind the apocalypse, and that's extremely valuable information to have if you're going to be treading back to the paths of Oryx.

Toby's tale is told in third-person, while Ren's is told in first-person. I'm not sure why Atwood did it. It seems to have an alienating effect.

The Good

Toby is amazing. I wasn't too fond of Ren, for most of the storyline: Ren's first-person recollection seems to permanently place in her in a thirteen-year-old's world view, but Toby's hardened, pragmatic, and infinitely more fun to read.

As I mentioned before, this novel does lend a great deal of background history into the more vital elements in Crake, like the MaddAddam videogame or the reasoning behind Crake's omnicide. Crake's character was always pretty hard to decode in the first novel, where he was a major character, but now we can understand him more, even though he's a minor character.

The Bad

What we really want to know, at the end of Oryx, is who Snowman sees after his return to the Crakers. This novel tells us (which might be a bit of a spoiler, if you can put two and two together: apologies). But then we realize - Atwood is great for this - we didn't want that. We wanted more. We wanted Snowman to meet them and then somehow continue on his merry adventures throughout the post-apocalyptic wasteland. And while we're not necessarily adamant on the merry part, Atwood's always kind of a literary tease when it comes to giving us the very basics of what we want. And then the novel ends! We only get a couple pages of what-happens-next.

Ren's a bit of a drag to read. When we see the same event through both Toby and Ren's eyes, Toby's perspective always seems to draw us in more deeply. I only started to really think Ren was cool until the final chapters. And then the novel ends!

*The Ugly
ugh did subtitles die or something

Final Thoughts

If you've read Oryx and Crake, read Flood. It adds a significant chunk of replay value (can you use that term in reference to books?) to Oryx, and gets you amped up for the yet-to-come final book. But the genetic splicing and cloning isn't really Atwood's forte - sometimes it seems like she's trying to imitate Brave New World in all the wrong ways. So I'd caution against starting with Flood as "Baby's First Atwood." Make sure you can read her first.

Arbitrary Score: 3.7 out of 5.

Next book: Wolf Hall, by Hilary Mantel (2009)

The Baskerville Legacy: A Confession, by John O'Connell (2011)

After The Marriage Plot, the list of novels I had wished to review had simmered. I'm glad I took this one out of the stacks of "New Fiction" from the Vancouver Public Library: it was a short, easy read, and I was a bit worried I had been inflating the ever-useless arbitrary scores.

The Facts
Length: 180 pages.
Publisher: Short Books.
This is O'Connell's third novel.

Quick Summary
This novel is a fictionalized biographical account of Bertram Fletcher Robin's collaboration with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to write a great detective story. Taking place in the early 1900s, the novel imagines Doyle "in between" the life of his most popular creation, Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes had been "killed off" by Doyle in the story "The Final Problem", but was later brought back by Doyle in the novel The Hound of the Baskervilles - this latter novel's creation is what concerns The Baskerville Legacy).

The story is told in first-person (Bertram is the narrator).

The Good
I can say that I couldn't put this book down once I had picked it up. But that's not to say the plot is particularly engaging, the novel's characters exciting, or the action compelling. It's a note on how short it feels - the action does move quickly, if not to any poignant point. So the novel doesn't drag, and the author's style is, for better or worse, invisible.

The Bad
Disclosure: while I've gotten a couple steps onto the staircase of Sherlock Holmes canon, I've yet to read The Hound of the Baskervilles. Does this limit the nuances of what-is-to-come out of the "collaboration" between Robinson and Doyle? Yes. Does that forgive Legacy's flaccid characters or half-hearted motion? No.

Perhaps it's because the novel is a "biofic" that I felt the characters dry. It's conceivable that O'Connell - while taking some artistic liberties - wanted to take a picture of English history, and run it through photoshop, instead of painting his own canvas of radically different historical figures. But the result is that everything becomes muted: the "friendship" between Doyle and Robinson, the "romance" between Gladys and Robinson, the breakdown between the former and the reconciliation of the latter. The novel's subtitle implies some sort of drama, but I sure as hell couldn't find it.

The Good
The description of Dartmoor and the rolling fog was charming. O'Connell seems to have more of a grasp on his English setting than on his lackluster characters.

And maybe it's the guilt, but the book did make me want to read The Hound of the Baskervilles. Maybe I'll have to come back to O'Connell, after I have.

Final Thoughts
Colourless and unexciting. The actual writing wasn't bad, but you can read better.

Arbitrary Score: 1.8 out of 5.

The Marriage Plot, by Jeffrey Eugenides (2011)

I didn't know who Eugenides was until I heard this novel mentioned on some early-morning Saturday talk show on CBC Radio. But he's the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Middlesex and The Virgin Suicides. If you liked his writing there, you're probably going to like his writing here, but hey, I haven't read either of them.


But damnit, after this, I should.


The Facts
Length: 406 pages.
Publisher: Alfred A. Knopf Canada.
This is Eugenides' third novel.

Quick Summary
Madeline Hanna, Leonard Bankhead, and Mitchell Grammaticus, are all recent graduates of Brown University in the 1980s. Mitchell loves Madeline, who loves Leonard. And Leonard has got a whole lot of issues. This novel is about young adulthood, mental illness, and just a little dose of love.

This novel is told in third person, but the focus rotates between the three main characters.

The Good
The beginning of this novel is one of the most insightful and truthful beginnings I've had the pleasure to experience. Madeline's experience with undergraduation and her flashbacks to her degree (is that what you call it?) coincided, to almost embarrassing levels, with my own experiences. I got Madeline almost instantly because, derr, as a fellow English graduate I was able to pick up on a lot of Eugenides' references (but not the philosophical ones: just the ones about Austen and Eliot). A lot of them I missed, and perhaps it's just my egotism speaking, but the ones I did miss didn't seem to halt the flow at all.

The other characters - Mitchell and Leonard - were a little bit harder for me to identify with - at first. But it's not long before Eugenides reveals traits present in the two which I see in my own mirror. The traits aren't particularly noble, or dignified, and it speaks to Eugenides' perception at noting common - if not universal - human fallacies to imbue them in each one of his drastically different characters.

The Bad
While I like this novel, the ending leaves a little bit to be desired. Mitchell has an intense moment of self-realization, but its outcome isn't particularly climactic or really important. It's placement at the very end of the novel shines too little a light on the proceeding disintegration of the relationship between Leonard and Madeline, but even this is somewhat underwhelming in its finality. It's hard to get excited over Leonard, because he falls into his depression so sluggishly, but I felt like the characters could've done more. I wasn't very happy at the ending - half because the novel flowed so well, and I don't like having it stopped, and half because the ending left much to be desired.

Final Thoughts
I loved this book. But the book needs a stronger ending to balance its gripping beginning and flowing middle. Fellow liberal arts undergrads, travelers, and anyone whose been unsure of how to deal with adulthood might want to give this book a go.

Arbitrary Score: 4.5 out of 5.


Next book: The Baskerville Legacy: A Confession, by John O'Connell (2011)

Out of Oz: The Final Volume in the Wicked Years, by Gregory Maguire (2011)

I first heard of this series about five years ago, when I was perusing the personal library of a book-loving couple. I saw Son of a Witch, the second novel in the series, and got interested. When I saw Wicked in a bookstore, a year and a province later, I finally picked it up. Wicked still stands strong as a compelling read about the nature of evil and the benefits of perspective. It is one of my favorite novels I've had the chance to read. Disclaimer: I never liked the Lion, so I skipped out on the third and preceding novel, A Lion Among Men.


The Facts
Length: 568 pages.
Publisher: HarperCollins.
This is Macguire's eighth novel in Adult Fiction. It is part four of four, being the completion of The Wicked Years.

Quick Summary
Wicked revolved around the tale of Elphaba (better known as the Wicked Witch of the West) from the beloved tales of L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. If you haven't heard of the latter, the former probably won't do much for you: the shock of Wicked was the way it took one of literature's most despicable villains and gave her a story. Because Oz was largely aimed at children, we don't think of its characters necessarily having realistic characteristics or politics or even much of a life. We never expected it; when we saw the Witch, in all her glory, in the 1939 film of Oz, we never questioned her evil. Unlike Darth Vader (another one of film's big villains), who redeems himself at the end of Jedi, the Witch is, acceptably, wholly evil.

This is the tragedy of Wicked.

While Wicked studies the Witch, Maguire extended the series to delve deeper into the universe of Oz. Out of Oz follows Rain, the grandchild of Elphaba, as she rambles through childhood, adolescence, and the beginning of adulthood. It also depicts the erupting war between the Munchkinlanders and the Emerald City, bubbled at during the preceding novels.

This story is told in third person, and Maguire moves between a number of characters in Rain's life (including Rain herself).

The Bad
One problem I'm starting to see with The Wicked Years has been its complete rejection of heteronormativity. This isn't necessarily anything big: gender and sexual lifestyles is a difficult subject, yes; there isn't anything wrong with homosexuality; gray areas play a big part in this great thing we call life. But Maguire imagines a world where no heterosexual relationship seems to work, and though I hate to say it, it almost seems like it became a gimmick within The Wicked Years. The only marriage is a sexless one, between a woman and a talking Lion, to give you a taste. Even this relationship breaks down. And without giving away too much, the climactic surprise is somewhat ruined if you've noticed this trend.

But perhaps I'm being too harsh. After all, in Out of Oz, it seems like no relationship - even the non-heterosexual ones - survives the test of civil war and abandonment. It's a running theme with Maguire's works.  Everything is unclear. No one is happy, except in glimpses of connection between friends or lovers. Even these are lost quickly. If this turns you off, or are expecting a happy ending, you might want to turn this novel (and series) down.

Also if you need clarity. If the ending of Lost had you pissed off, solely because of unanswered questions, well, then, hey. Again, this isn't for you.

The Good
If you're still reading, then maybe this series is for you. If you've read Wicked and proceeded to read at least one other book in the series (re: don't look at me, Lion Among Men), you're probably going to want to pick up the closing. It's a good ending for the series, even if it didn't give us all we wanted. But it's the bittersweet sequel to the tragedy of Wicked, and a great feel of lurking adventure after the bildungsroman when Rain decides to just get away. Out of Oz is, in one way, about leaving home, and never looking back.

Rain makes a great protagonist - she's a bit more solid than Elphaba, a bit more real than Lor, but also deserves a good throttling every once in a while. You'll find yourself screaming at the book: "JUST DO THE *&#@ing MAGIC!" (As with Elphaba, as with Lor, Rain's world has largely been disrupted because of her aptitude with spells. It's understanding her hesitation that halts the reader from expecting an epic battle-mage out of Rain).

Final Thoughts
Yes, bittersweet was a good word for this series, and is perhaps a more realistic adjective in describing this novel, apart from the entire series. Give it (and Wicked) a go if you're in the mood for a good tragedy.

Arbitrary Score: 4.1 out of 5.

Next book: The Marriage Plot, by Jeffrey Eugenides (2011)

The Magician King: A Novel, by Lev Grossman (2011)

Yeah, you just read the review of The Magicians. I liked it. This is its sequel. Can't stay away from that sugar crisp.


The Facts
Length: 400 pages.
Publisher: Viking.
This is Grossman's fourth novel. It is part two of two - so far (a third novel is expected).

Quick Summary
Okay. You know the jist of this series, so I'm not going to take up a lot of your time. But this story has two protagonists - yeah. You heard me. For one, you've got Quentin Coldwater (a lot more likeable in this book, but still sad ol' Quentin). But the story also follows the arc of Julia, who's just an example of what happens when Brakebills turns down someone with OCD. Spoilers: you'll be enjoying reading her magical periphery backstory intensely enough that you'll be some kind of disappointed when Quentin (and the main plot) pokes his scronkin' head back in. That's not to say Quentin's storyline is bad, rather the opposite: you'll see old friends, mythical creatures, and really get to the crux of why magic exists, rather than have magic be treated as something with unflappable origin.

The Good
Everything. But, to be more specific: the ending, for one, is just brilliant. This is supposed to be a trilogy, right? And yet I found myself convinced that this was it. The novel ends on such a strong note that the next novel doesn't seem a requirement, but rather an unexpected bonus. I have never felt that about the middle child in a series (excluding, upon growing up, Empire Strikes Back, but hell, that was a movie).

If you're still looking for more stuff to revel in, I'm going to reiterate my feelings for the Julia plot. It grabs you by the soul and never lets you go, because her own search for the dream of magic leads down a path I'm sure you know well: the stale taste of midnight coffee, the mindlessness of surfing the 'net in search of something, the estrangement from the parents and the life you once led...Julia's plot seemed like she was growing up and growing away, but in a way that wasn't expected, and she was finding out different parts of herself that she'd never known before. And unlike Quentin, she does it in our world. It's scary, and leads down some dark paths, but she is who she is.

The Bad
The problem is, though, that Julia in Quentin's storyline is a cardboard figure. Because the Julia plot gives her a large portion of the narrator's time, dedication, and attention, we're allowed to sneak into her world more fully than in Quentin's story. Yeah, Julia went through some pretty weird stuff, so there's a reasoning for it, but it just seemed kind of alien to me, and made her character hard to respond to. I wish we had some more of the narration behind Julia in Quentin's story.

Secondly: the love interest isn't as real as Alice, either. Alice for life.

Final Thoughts
I'm not sure why I even have a "The Bad" category here. I can only tell you to get into this series, because it just keeps getting better.

Arbitrary Score: 4.8 out of 5.

Next book: Out of Oz, by Gregory Maguire (2011)

The Magicians: A Novel, by Lev Grossman (2009)

Friend recommended this. Told me it was "Harry Potter for adults." Yeah, I thought. Riiiiight.


The Facts
Length: 402 pages.
Publisher: Plume Publishers.
This is Grossman's third novel. It is part one of two - so far (a third novel is expected).

Quick Summary
Hey!

You!

You liked Harry Potter, right?

Yeah, of course you did. And Narnia, while a bit of a theological stretch, was still pretty dope. You wanted to fall into a wardrobe and out into another world; you waited, on your eleventh birthday, for an owl that never came, to deliver a letter that never existed. And now you're in your early twenties. Coming out of school, the cold and distant reality of life, of work, of sexual frustration, of joylessness hits you in the face like a sack of potatoes, over and over and over again.

So here it is: your book. The Magicians follows the oncoming adulthood of Quentin Coldwater, straight-A Ivy League testblitzer (also depressed). The kick? Quentin gets into the one school he never believed existed: Brakebills College for Magical Pedagogy. But the sudden influx of magic into Quentin's world doesn't help his depression; it's just another world for him to wander through, somewhat aimlessly, in frustration and exhaustion.

The story is told in third person.

The Good
The characters are great, believable and halfway us. Quentin frustrates the hell out of me, but I understand his emotions or lack thereof. He's dead inside and grasping at any way out. When he finally hits the lottery, he does what all down-on-their-luck lotto winners become, after a while: exactly the same (full disclosure: I know, personally, absolutely no actual lotto winners). But even the zombified Quentin has all this history of grueling hard work and the test grades to prove it, and so he falls into the same form at Brakebills. The result is we don't see a "I'm a good wizard because I believe in love" Potter role; Quentin's skill, due to familiar stoic dedication, alienates him from the rest of classmates and forces him to compete on a near suicidal level of heroism (the Antarctica chapter is beautiful).


The Bad
The pacing is a little off; the story isn't some now-classical "Quentin goes to school and at the end of his year he fights the boss I mean the bad guy." Quentin graduates about halfway through the novel's content. Which is great - I can't get enough of this series, and was nearly jumping for joy when my roommate told me it was going to be a trilogy - but it means the climax is a little rushed and alien to the reader.

Secondly, Grossman isn't the greatest at identifying who's speaking. Because Quentin eventually falls in with the Physical Kids, there's a lot of dialogue among the group. Sometimes, Quentin will be having a conversation, but the pattern is interrupted because of the number, and though Quentin supposedly would know who said what, we don't, and that hinders characterisation.

Final Thoughts
Grossman makes ennui, adulthood, and existential angst somehow magical. Great novel to pick up if you've done two things: a) read Harry Potter and/or Narnia; and b) have entered your twenties and found out the world fucking sucks. And even if that hasn't happened, hey. At least give it a shot.

Arbitrary Score: 4.7 out of 5.

Next book: The Magician King, by Lev Grossman (2011)

Absurdistan, by Gary Shteyngart (2006)

I first heard about Shteyngart through a Super Sad True Love Story interview, and when that novel was currently unavailable, I took a look at Shteyngart's former novel, Absurdistan.


The Facts
Length: 333 pages.
Publisher: Random House.
This is Shteyngart's second novel.

Quick Summary
Exiled from his beloved United States of America, Russian-born Misha Vainberg tries anything to get back in. So he goes to oil-rich Absurdistan, home to the rival ethnicities of "Sevo" and "Svani", in an attempt to buy a fake Belgian passport. Ever unfortunate, however, Misha finds himself wrapped up in a conspiracy of ethnic conflict and international apathy.

The story is told in first-person.


The Good
Protagonist Misha Vainberg, with all his oddball stupidity and obsessive eating habits, is somehow quite charming. He's oblivious to the schemers around him, but he's rich enough not to care. He laughs, he eats, he cries, he eats; he falls in love, girl after girl after girl - but really, based on his weight, you wouldn't want to imagine him having sex.

Secondly, Shteyngart scores points on his eerily apathetic international community. When the state of Absurdistan breaks down completely, everyone finds time to look the other way. Blood pours hot onto the streets in a sickly sort of pseudo-reality; I couldn't help but think of videos that came out of the Rwandan genocide.

The Bad
It ended all too soon and in so much chaos (Absurdistan is a good Cross-Currents). I was never sure the extent of the damage, what was going to happen to Absurdistan, or if Misha finally makes it across the border (we can, however, guess at the outcome of his US-gamble, due to a nice timeline which ends on a particular date). The fighting erupts - Misha is imprisoned in his hotel rooms - and then the fighting seems to be over. Maybe "bad" is a little bit too strong, but I would've had a little bit of a longer middle.

Final Thoughts
I'm starting to see Shteyngart's style with this one - a weird sort of blend of humour and horror and human weakness. Absurdistan succeeds in this respect, but I'd be unwilling to place it far above (or below) Super Sad True Love Story. Overall, a pretty good read.

Arbitrary Score: 4.2 out of 5.

Next book: The Magicians, by Lev Grossman (2009)

The Wise Man's Fear: The Kingkiller Chronicle: Day Two, by Patrick Rothfuss (2011)

A couple of months ago, I was talking to one of my friends about how it would be nice to read some whimsical escapist fiction as the world economy crumbled. Heroes fighting along clearly-defined roles of good and evil might take away some of the ambiguities surrounding global politics and financial policies. Some sort of Indiana Jones or James Bond of the fantasy world. After a week, my friend handed me The Name of the Wind. This is its sequel.


The Facts
Length: 994 pages.
Publisher: DAW Books, Inc.
This is Rothfuss's second novel. It is part two of three.

Quick Summary
His name is Kvothe.

Okay, okay. Sorry. There's more to it, but that sentence seems to capture this series perfectly. The story is told in two parts: the overarching frame (third person) includes a character by the name of the Chronicler recording the life story of the mysterious and powerful Kvothe, lying low as an innkeeper after faking his death. The main storyline concerns itself with the actual past itself (first person); the "interludes" into the present are short, merely spanning a couple chapters at the beginning, the end, and a couple in-between. As well, Wise Man's Fear takes place in a sword-and-complicated-spells world, so watch out if the fantasy genre makes you sick. That said, I only noted a couple of times when generic high fantasy writing intruded unexpectedly.

The Bad
Rothfuss needs his editor to watch dialogue more closely. In the dialogue, it's not infrequent for a character to say something like, "I'm sorry Bast." Note the lack of a comma after "sorry"? I do. It happens often enough for it to be a problem, and it drags me out of my immersion.

The second thing I tended to notice more after it was pointed out by a friend of mine. I was telling him how great this series was becoming, specifically after Kvothe spends time in the Fae. This friend told me he had heard it was a good series, but the author tended to Mary Sue a lot of the sex scenes. And it's true. Kvothe is a virgin until the Fae, but after that he seems to entrance the female folk with a wave of his arm or a smile behind his beard. And then he simply leaves, no better or worse off. I suppose the author attempts to taint this with the knowledge that Kvothe might not be the most reliable narrator (there are snippets when we learn Kvothe fails almost as much as he succeeds), but it still bugs me, and wore on the realism of the text.

With that in mind, it might also be necessary for me to point out something that only struck me when reading the second novel in this trilogy. Kvothe astounds everyone with his intelligence and resourcefulness. But he starts to gain diminishing returns on episodes of profound skill. When reading the first book, I was simply awed; now, however, I find myself asking (note: perhaps rarely), "Really, Kvothe? You've enchanted and befriended these people, too?" I mean, hey. Kvothe is still one of the coolest cats around. But does his one-upmanship ever get old? Maybe.

At least he could beat the snot outta that Potter kid.

The Good
Finally. I've been waiting to get to this part. Because frankly, I loved this book. It's 900+ pages and there wasn't a lull in the whole novel. I love the whole basis of the first-person fantasy novel. I love the stress of poverty Kvothe goes through (if you've ever been scrambling for simply a dollar, you'll be able to relate). Kvothe as a young man (rather than a boy, as in the first novel) is incredibly fun to read about, and his skill with magic and Calling the Wind and his decimation of an entire troop of bandits is, well, just amazing.

What makes this book truly great, however, is perhaps the shadow of the overarching plot: Kvothe as innkeeper. You'll notice this about me, perhaps: I'm drawn to the absolutely broken characters. And present Kvothe is exactly this. He'll tell a wild story of how he's charmed the God of Desire, called down lightning and used a body for a link, and learned the remarkably effective fighting style and philosophy of the mysterious Adem.

And then, in the "real world", he'll get beaten to a bloody pulp by two thugs.

It's strange, and sad, and it simply makes me want to read more. Is Kvothe an unreliable narrator - did he actually accomplish his feats, or merely hope to? Is he only fabricating this story? Was there ever a Kvothe, or only an innkeeper who could spin a tale?

Or did something darker happen to him? He's lost his ability to use sympathy; he's lost his ability to fight. And the worst part is - after he tells his tale and you're pumped up on how awesome Kvothe is, he starts to believe it, too. But it's all a lie: he's lost something, and the only thing he gets back from telling this story is a false hope that he can find it again.

So he gets robbed, and the faith is shaken once more.

Final Thoughts
Like Super Sad True Love Story, this one won't keep you bored. I burned through this book incredibly fast. It is, frankly, an artistically beautiful premise, and I can't wait the four or so years it'll take Rothfuss to write the final segment. Seriously.

Arbitrary Score: 4.4 out of 5.

Next book: Absurdistan, by Gary Shteyngart (2006)



Special Note: Although the image for this novel included "A Novel" in the lower left-hand corned, it seems my actual copy substitutes the above for "The Kingkiller Chronicle: Day Two." They're finally learning! ;_;

Super Sad True Love Story, by Gary Shteyngart (2010)

[I feel so completely computer illiterate right now. The original blog post reviewing this novel was overwritten and lost to the seas of the world wide web. I apologize. In lieu of a full-out rewrite, I'm just going to tell you to check it out.]

Arbitrary Score: 4.0 out of 5. 

Sorry, Short Fans...

Won't be getting around to reviewing Apricot Jam, like I promised. Got halfway through before giving up on it and moving on to Super Sad True Love Story, by Gary Shteyngart (2010) - which I most definitely will be reviewing next.

Not sure what I was expecting when I started Apricot, but it ain't as recent as I was lead to believe (from where I decided to read it, I'm not so sure). Solzhenitsyn originally published these short stories in 1994 when he returned to Russia; this collection, then, is a recently published translation - hence the 2011 publishing date. S. died in 2008.

My most honest excuse was that I was given a glimpse into the world of Shteyngart's Absurdistan (which I'll hopefully be reviewing at a later date) before embarking on Apricot Jam, and I was driven out of my skull with boredom. Some of them have interesting premises that ultimately go nowhere, but the influx of names and ranks - never explained - just boggled my mind.

If you like reading about the failure of the Soviet state, or have heard of The Gulag Archipelago, definitely check it out. As for me, I took a year-long course on Soviet history, so this isn't really anything new - well, in fact, most of the references I remembered from my University days are what sparked some lights in me, but...

...on to Shteyngart!

The Assassin's Song: A Novel, by M. G. Vassanji (2007)

I picked up The Assassin's Song while waiting on other holds; a trip to the library, a walk through the small fiction section, and a cover that isn't unbearably terrible resulted in my next subject of review. Vassanji has won the Scotiabank Giller Prize, one of Canada's most prestigious fiction awards, twice, so I figured it'd be at least better than Cross Currents. This novel was, apparently, shortlisted for the aforementioned prize.


The Facts
Length: 314 pages.
Publisher: Doubleday Canada.
This is Vassanji's sixth novel.

Quick Summary
This novel is told from the first-person perspective of Indian-born Karsan Dargawalla, heir to the Shine of the Wanderer, which his father reigns over. Karsan forsakes his eternal and holy duty by escaping to America, and later Canada, but the death of his father forces him to return in middle-age to reconsider his path. Most of the novel is told through flashbacks and moves between three narratives: the surreal, medieval India of Nur Fazal, the Wanderer; the childhood of Karsan, beginning in the 60's; and present-day (2002) Karsan, returning home.

The Good
Reading legitimately good writing after Cross Currents was a sigh of relief, especially because I had never heard of Vassanji before (supposedly, one of Canada's current top writers) and this was a blind pick off the shelf. The story starts of slowly, without any real primary conflict or action. Antagonism is found, hesitantly, in the presence of a police officer, investigating the whereabouts of Karsan's brother, but even Karsan's relationship with the officer isn't directly oppositional. As Karsan delves deeper into his own reflections, the story picks up; I found myself reading in larger increments as I continued throughout the novel (this might be less pleasant than it sounds: in the later half of the novel, Karsan has integrated himself almost completely into North American societal norms, whereas the first half is very much traditional religious India).

The Average
I'm hesitant to call anything about this book ugly, but maybe "average" better describes it. After I gave a friend a synopsis of the plot, she described it as a "story that's been told before." And she's right: the prodigal son returns to his pastoral home and serves as a symbol of a new and better future. And the worst part is that's about it. There's no real conflict or passion; the "hesitant antagonist" switches between the police officer looking for the brother, and the brother himself (resentful of, it seems, everything). Karsan and his brother do not reconcile. Karsan's own thoughts on the Shrine are unclear, even at the end of the novel. Karsan has moved from one romance to nothing, and there's hope for another, but that plays at the edges as well. The story feels unfinished.

There is a secondary plot. It revolves around the "secret" of Nur Fazal's identity. But it's swept almost completely under the rug for most of the novel, and only pokes its head during the final pages. Compared to the life story Karsan's just told, the revelation seems unfounded, unimportant, and annoyingly out of place. I'm still unsure what Vassanji was trying to do with it, and if can be any way related back to the main storyline. Is his brother the Spiritual Avatar of Nur Fazal? Or is Karsan? Why did you title your book The Assassin's Song, Vassanji? Why are the final pages (perhaps the most important) dedicated to this subject?

The Ugly
Subtitle.


The Good
Aged Karsan makes a great "Man Who Has Lost Everything." That's becoming an archetype, isn't it?

Final Thoughts
If Indian history for the past 40 or so years is an interest to you, then this book deserves at least a look, especially regarding Muslim-Hindu violence. Vassanji has a calming, traditional writing style, but perhaps that drives his plot into the realm of forgetfulness.

Arbitrary Score: 2.8 out of 5.

Next book: Apricot Jam, and Other Stories, by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (2011)

Cross Currents: A Novel, by John Shors (2011)

I think I found this the same place I found Lawrenson's novel The Lantern: within Vancouver Public Library's (VPL) "New Fiction" lists, the likes of which I scour when I run out of novels to read. God, don't I learn?


The Facts
Length: 317 pages.
Publisher: New American Library.
This is Shors's fifth novel.

Quick Summary
Rotational third-person point-of-view on the various inhabitants of Ko Phi Phi Island. American Patch is on the run from the law and hides out at a resort of Lek and Sarai, trading room and board for badly needed skilled labour. However, Patch's brother Ryan (and Ryan's girlfriend Brooke) travel to the island in order to persuade Patch to turn himself into the authorities. In the midst of the 2006 Boxing Day Tsunami, however, the characters reveal their true selves (barf). The story is told in chapters, which describe each individual day leading up to the Tsunami.

The Bad
Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. This book is - extremely juvenile in its character development and plot. Somewhere in the middle of the novel I wagered on who would eventually perish in the Tsunami; I ended up being 100% right. I was never sure what the hell Conservative Ryan was doing with Liberal Brooke in the first place, and obviously Brooke would fall in love with equally Liberal Patch (Patch and Brooke never disagree on anything; their soulmate compatibility is disgusting). One character goes on and on about how things will be, hypothetically, when she eventually dies; I think you can properly guess what happens to her.

The writing is almost amateurish. "Watching her grin, Ryan thought about the differences between them. Their histories were as varied as water and sand. And yet, they were also connected."

Gross.

The Good?
Ok, ok, ok. So I was able to finish it, which must mean something, right? Two things I want to point out that I at least found decent about the entire novel (thanks for the subtitle, by the way): the recent reality of the tsunami, and Ryan's relationship with Dao. Like I said with The Lantern, it was refreshing to read about something real and present which I had witnessed during my lifetime. I wish Shors had somehow described it in greater detail. Perhaps wisely, the descriptions of the imminent chaos and destruction are given to the reader in a chaotic fashion; I had no idea what the hell was going on when the tsunami hit the characters. Does Ryan swim from one side of the island to the other? Where does all the blackness come from? Where does he tear his leg? I wasn't sure if it was superb writing or if Shors just throwing everything at us at once, or maybe a little bit of both.

(Spoilers in the proceeding section)

Ryan's relationship with Dao also peaked my interest. The implications of Ryan's last wishes regarding Dao felt like they needed to be explored one more step: I wanted to see the look on Dao's face when Patch told her of Ryan's fate, and what that means, monetarily, for her future. Unfortunately, however, Shors ends the novel prematurely, focusing entirely on Patch's resolution to change his ways and his own nascent romance with Brooke. We never get to see Dao's reaction to Ryan's death, nor her reaction to his gift for her education (such a large financial gift would've seemed inappropriate to me, considering Dao and Ryan had known each other for little under a week). It's disappointing because it would've been new, unlike the old rehashed crap most of this novel turned out to be.

The Ugly
I'm going to keep saying it until this practice stops. The subtitle. What the hell is up with publishers enforcing this redundancy?


The Bad
Previously, I mentioned my interest in the tsunami. I also mentioned how I at least got through this novel. The truth is, folks, that most of the reason I kept reading was because I wanted most of these characters to be wiped off the face of the planet, so I wouldn't have to keep reading the same old "We're poor!" dialogue from Lek and Sarai or "We're meant for each other!" dialogue from Patch and Brooke. And the 2006 Tsunami was a tragic natural disaster with heartbreaking consequences. Which makes me feel wretched for wishing it would've happened sooner in the novel's timeline.

Final Thoughts
Don't read it. Chick lit which is so chick lit it's almost making fun of itself. No character ever changes their philosophy, so it feels like they are simply driving into a great brick wall of terrible, repetitive dialogue. I'm frankly surprised this is Shors' fourth novel, but I mean, hey. At least his heart is in the right place, right?

Arbitrary Score: 0.5 out of 5.

Next book: The Assassin's Song: A Novel*, by M. G. Vassanji (2007)

*Really!?

The Graveyard Book, by Neil Gaiman (2008)

I'm going to let you know right now that I'm a fan of Gaiman. My friend introduced me to Neverwhere when I was just entering adulthood, and has since remained one of my favorite novels. His short story "Other People", found in his collection Fragile Things, is short, bitter, fantastical, and human (like all things Gaiman), and is one of the best short stories I've had the pleasure to read. But I had yet to read Gaiman's The Graveyard Book, and since it was one of his more recent works, I placed the library hold almost as soon as I remembered it existed.


The Facts
Length: 307 pages.
Publisher: HarperCollins.
This is Gaiman's eighth novel in Young Adult Fiction.

Quick Summary
Cryptic man Jack (the name "man Jack" is kept up throughout the novel; if you've read Gaiman before, you'll notice he likes this kind of repetition) kills an entire family except the baby, who climbs to apparent safety inside a graveyard. The inhabitants of this place - dead witches, dead doctors, dead teachers, werewolves, vampires, et cetera - protect the child, Nobody "Bod" Owens, through his journey towards adulthood. The novel is told of a kind of vignette/chapter-style breaking up of things; it reminded me of T.H.White's The Sword in the Stone.

The story is told in third-person.

The Good
What isn't good? Gaiman manages to get creepy correct right in the first few lines of the novel. The man Jack's just torn through Nobody's family, but it's the knife wielded that gets all the attention (it "had done almost everything it was brought to that house to do, and both the blade and the handle were wet"). The reality of the murder just gets me - an entire family decimated before the novel even began.

Gaiman seems to capture reality through unreality - working through the realm of fantasy and myth and half-remembered dreams in order to write about something we all feel. I mean, who doesn't fall in love with the ghost-witch Liza Hempstock, in all her plainness, and feel the pain when the romance between her and Nobody can never really develop?

Hell, I still get texts from ghosts.

The Questionable
Gaiman definitely has set out his realm, and through that, somewhat of a style. And the thing is he never really changes. Fantasy/reality (Gaiman is the version of the "magical realism" genre, or fantastical reality, or whatever) is where he rests. It's a great style, but there's a little lack of surprise that I find myself wanting. Maybe I just haven't read enough Gaiman.

On a related note, another thing I wasn't too keen on were the antagonists. The shadowy organisation of ne'er-do-wellers just seems rather blank and flat. The main man Jack doesn't change at all - he's still the same at the end of the novel as he is in the beginning, albeit with white hair instead of black. Furthermore, he's easily fooled: the first chapter highlights his nonchalance at murder, but then almost makes a fool out of him when he loses, of all things, a baby. I remembered, when I was reading, the commentary from Joss Whedon during the Serenity film - he had deleted a scene because he felt like he was making too much of an idiot organisation of "The Alliance." I felt Whedon's words here. The Knaves are intelligent and surprising and evil and ingenuousness, but you never see evidence of it.


The Good
It's tragic, really. The novel has a - whoops, spoilers - happy ending, as all YA fiction probably should, but throughout the novel there are two premises which Gaiman continually reminds us of: one, that Nobody's entire family has been brutally murdered, and two, that Bod, being "alive", can never be fully integrated into his graveyard home. He's stuck between two worlds. And sure, that's been done before, especially in YA fiction, but I haven't ever seen it as effectively delivered throughout the entire novel as in here.

It's haunting (pun intended).

Final Thoughts
Do you like Gaiman? Read it. Have you never read Gaiman before? Read it.
Are you tired of Gaiman? Don't. Does your child still not know what suicide, or murder is, and you don't feel like explaining? Don't (get it for them).

But all in all, it won't cost you much time. I read GB in just over a day. A quick read compared to what I'm used to - heavy Victorian lit - but still well worth the time, in my opinion.

Arbitrary Score: 4.0 out of 5.

Next book: Cross Currents, by John Shors (2011)

The Lantern: A Novel, by Deborah Lawrenson (2011)

A bit of a blind "buy" for me (thumbs up to local libraries). The only reason I know this book existed was because - I think - I found something about it on Vancouver Public Library recommendations, or a "New and Exciting Fiction" list somewhere. Tired, bored, and a bite curious, I decided to place it on hold.

The Facts
Length: 387 pages.
Publisher: HarperCollins.
This is Lawrenson's first novel.

Quick Summary
Protagonist "Eve" falls in love with the older Dom, and they move into a decaying but lovable house in a whirlwind romance. Set in Les Genévriers, France, in 2011, Eve soon suspects that Dom is hiding something about his former wife, whom he absolutely refuses to talk about, and Eve's idyllic romance soon shatters as winter descends.

Every chapter, the novel switches perspective to that of Bénédicte Lincel, a farmgirl born in 1925. Bénédicte takes us through her troubled relationship with her family, but the two narratives converge into one at the end of the novel.

The Bad
I think this might be "chick lit."

I've read maybe two novels that hands-down pandered almost entirely to female readers (I'm not including anything written in the Victorian era, viz. Brontë or Austen). One was about an ugly twin who was helping to piece together the disappearance of her more famous sister with the help of the latter's ex-husband, who also happened to have popped the former's cherry and is, in fact, her true love. The other was about something about a string of murders; anyway, the protagonist falls in love with the steamy cop next door. I never finished it. I got as far as I could in one beach day and then never read any of my mother's "summer reads" ever again. Entirely forgettable, but my mind was drawn back to them on the appearance of Dom, the mysterious and brooding Bluebeard of a romantic interest in The Lantern. He's got a dark past and Eve discovers inconsistencies in his life story. He refuses to talk about his ex-wife Rachel. His emotional highs often only showcase his boundless anger. His actions scream guilty, but we all know he's innocent. We've seen this guy before.

The Good
But before you chuck this book away, it has its moments. Published in 2011, it references "La Crise", the financial simmering that's been going on for the past three years. That took me by surprise (after all, I had just read Robinson Crusoe before this - modernity!? In my books!?). "La Crise" isn't a large portion of this novel, by any means, but it was still a relevant touch, especially in Eve and Dom's reaction to it.

The Questionable
I also found that Lawrenson did something I've never really seen before; she relies heavily on olfactory sensation to tell the story. One of the characters in the novel, for example, is Marthe Lincel, a blind perfume-maker (whose sense of smell has apparently increased with the decay of her sight, ala Daredevil). Because she's just so damn good at her calling, she can capture scents that other characters only subconsciously remember. But, like Bénédicte observes, it's almost impossible to pin down and describe scent. Frankly, I find that the theme of scent in The Lantern falls on its face (or nose!), perhaps for this very reason. But I've never stopped to smell the roses.

The Good
I loved the chilling, crime-scene Octoberish mood in The Lantern. Casual references by locals to "missing girls" never go unnoticed. Local hunters accidentally shoot joggers in the woods. Pierre, the brother to Bénédicte and Marthe, was freaky as shit (unfortunately, like Dom, perhaps a bit of a cliché). The fate of Bénédicte's father makes you wonder if the family is truly cursed, as rumored, or if there's some dark presence of human feeling at play, and which one is more frightening.

The Bad
The subtitle. I rage every time I see "A Novel."

Final Thoughts
I'd be hesitant to recommend this to readers used to crunching down on "finer" literature (Can you taste the elitism? Can you taste it?!). The story doesn't seem to be anything particularly new, and Dom's characterization as a watered-down Rochester leaves something to be desired. If I see Lawrenson again, however, she'd be a good enough writer to give a second glance. She definitely has the vocabulary (which, in my pea-brained head, seemed a tad overwhelming, at times - I mean "the effervescence of citrus zest"? What the hell?) of someone schooled in languages, and she did provoke thought on some more modern social developments (is Dom as morally "clean" as we might expect, after he reveals his full story? Where was the line in his dilemma?). I don't regret that I read it, but I wish there was more meat in it.

Arbitrary Score: 2.5 out of 5.


Next book: The Graveyard Book, by Neil Gaiman (2008)

Thanks to...

The Creative Commons licensing at flickr. Photo of Vancouver Public Library by Kama Guezalova.

Testing the Waters.

Erg, this is nerve-wracking. Writing for an audience. Without, currently, anything to say. Only a small idea:

Writing about books. New books.

I was going to say literature, but the definitions of what is and what isn't literature have been debated enough elsewhere (English professors, book burners, 4chan's /lit/ board) that I feel like one can make his own decision on what is or what isn't good (I guess that's the implication of the word "literature", eh? That it's somehow worthwhile to read and not utter shit). I tend towards the view that anything that has multiple chapters is, for better or worse, literature. But I may eat those words.

This blog is inspired by an upcoming event: An Evening with Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer. Well, slightly. One of my good friends is quite the fan of the duo, and I've always been keen on Gaiman as a short story master, but I got to thinking that, well, other than Mr. Gaiman and Ms. Rowling, "modern" literature is something that goes a bit over my head. I know nothing of it.

(You'll find out, quite quickly, I really know nothing about a great deal).

And so I ask you to come along this journey with me. Now that I'm out of the bubble of school, I've found I can't get my hands on enough novels. I've actually read a substantial amount in only a couple of weeks. I don't think I've ever read any more in the same period of time. But for every "modern" book (I'm thinking within the last decade or so*) I read, I'll hope to post a little bit of information regarding what it was about, whether or not I found it a good read (and the dreaded why), and various other tidbits that possessed my brain in connection with it.

The first "real" post might not be up for a spell. I'm currently at the other end of the spectrum of the novel, reading Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. Modern? It was one of the first novels ever published.

(And it shows. God, Defoe can't stop using commas.)

Until then, adieu.

*I'll probably be very relaxed in keeping up with this. Perhaps I should only require that the author of the title still be alive.