"The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay" by Michael Chabon - Book Review

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This book struck me in an odd way in that I could recognize in a disconnected, impartial observer sort of way that it was clever, heartbreaking, artful, extensively detailed, well researched, and deeply funny, except that all of these qualities added up to me not caring one bit about the novel or the characters.  If this says anything, I recognized in a purely analytical sense that, Yes, indeed, this is technically a "good book," but I would never pick up another of Chabon's works again. There was nothing within it that struck a meaningful chord in me (though, clearly, it has struck a chord with a great many other people).

Something that bothered me was that Chabon's sentences could be so over-puffed (that's the primary word that kept coming to mind) that they almost became a study in how lengthy and convoluted with highfalutin vocabulary a sentence can be. I'm all for lengthy sentences, and I'm all for coming across new words in my reading (in fact, I hope for that quality in a book), but I got the sense at times that Chabon was simply showing off in order to prop his novel up as high art, real capital-L Literature, crafted for the express purpose of earning the praise of the New York City and NPR crowd. Or, perhaps Chabon is just really smart and it comes naturally to him to write in this way. That doesn't mean it is terribly enjoyable to read.

I'm not saying the book is shit--not in the least. It is one of those grand epics that encompasses the entirety of its characters' lives and explores a wide assortment of facets (magic tricks, isolated life in the arctic, World War II, lock-picking, writing stories, drawing superheroes, a Jewish Golem). Its sensibility is big, bold, and unabashedly American, but in a colorful, fun way that mirrors the comic books at its center. The drama that unfolds between its three main characters, while not particularly engaging to me, was well told.

It was interesting to read this not long after having finished The Goldfinch (both novels were Pulitzer Prize winners) because, although I enjoyed that book far more, I noticed some parallels. that made the two seem noticeably similar. Both books are big in scope, even though they pivot around a small group of characters. Both span the length of someone's life and therefore are widely varied in the areas of human experience that they consider. Perhaps that isn't much and sounds generic, like it could fit the description of many novels, but in reading Kavalier & Clay I kept being reminded of Donna Tartt's book.

In all, this book wasn't my ideal reading scenario, but I can see how a different type of person would find it unutterably adventurous and pleasurable. Still, at nearly 700 pages, I didn't quit as I might have with a lesser book. I stuck with it because it was admittedly engaging 85% of the time, I just can't put my finger on why it didn't connect with me more on an emotional level.

Recommended if you're into: Stories that take place in New York City, 1920's to 1950's America, the Golden Age of comics, Harry Houdini, World War II, McSweeney's Quarterly (because it's got the same literary tone as much of what Dave Eggers puts out), classic superheroes, vintage TV and radio.

-D.G.

"The Water Knife" by Paolo Bacigalupi - Book Review

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This was a decently entertaining read, but there were enough thematic and structural issues to also make it a distracting and confusing one. Something about the story felt amateurish and incomplete, and the ending itself was abrupt and seemed not completely thought out. It was not terrible, it simply felt like an idea that never got fully developed, thus the book never felt “solid” or came into its own.

It could be said that this is a “mid-apocalyptic” book (if such a thing exists—it does now, I guess) in that the story takes place not before or after a great calamity, but in the middle of the world falling apart, and the reason is much simpler than zombies or a viral outbreak: it’s water.

The premise is initially intriguing, if odd. The extent of the novel’s world takes a few chapters to get your head around if you come into the book cold, as I did. It takes place in a near future version of America where it no longer rains and the drier states such as Colorado, New Mexico, Nevada, Arizona, and Texas have become dangerous and desolate territories where water is scarce and what little is available is controlled by corrupt powers with their own self interests in mind. California, on the other hand, has become more or less its own country with plentiful water and resources. It is viewed as a sort of paradise that the rest of the US aspires to, however their borders are strictly monitored and getting inside the state is nearly impossible without a great deal of money or social stature.

Much of the book takes place in Phoenix, a city that has been largely abandoned and left to die by the rest of the country. Gangs and savages have sprung up who preside over the weak and helpless. They run prostitution rings, take cuts of cash and water from small business owners within their territory, and watch over the borders so that inhabitants cannot simply leave the state. It’s a dire situation.

The plot centers around three characters in vastly different situations whose stories eventually intertwine: Lucy, a journalist who covers primarily grisly murders often related to water rights conflicts; Angel, a highly trained hitman/undercover investigator/Jason Bourne type (the slang term for his occupation being water knife) who works for a powerful figure named Catherine Case based in Las Vegas who controls most of the water in the Southwestern states; and Maria, an impoverished young woman who makes her living by buying up water at low rates and reselling it in convenient locations for a profit.

I did come to care about all three of these characters, Lucy in particular, and Bacigalupi’s ability to write dialogue and small human moments was notable. The book plays out as sort of a medium-speed thriller (I would consider something by Lee Child or Michael Crichton to be “full-speed,” comparatively) mixed with more intimate moments between the main characters in their struggle to survive.  

One of my issues with the book is its smallness of scope. If there is literally no more rain anywhere and this water epidemic is supposedly affecting the entire world, why does the author only give us a pocket of the whole story? What’s going on in other countries? Why is the American government so standoffish to its own states that are suffering? Some of these details are alluded to—loosely—and I recognize that some of this approach may be commentary on a future government that is even more apathetic to its own people than it is now, but this aspect still bothered me. Only so much could be done about the scope, I realize, and the author prioritized the characters in their geographic situation, but I feel that these details could have at least been fleshed out more to give a larger idea of what was happening in the world at large.

There were some extremely graphic descriptions of torture and one sex scene that got pornographic. These things don’t generally bother me in a novel per se, but in both instances they felt like X-rated scenes shoved into what was otherwise a PG-13 novel, which is to say they felt highly out of place. They were jolting enough to take me out of the flow of the story and say, out loud, “Wait, what?” These contributed to the book’s overall inconsistency in tone.

In all, The Water Knife was not a bad read and it held my attention for the most part, but I kept waiting for it to break wide open and become truly great—except it never did. The author’s writing was decent and his concept was interesting, and there was undoubtedly a lot of research that went into making the concept believable and realistic. However, based upon this work alone, I would probably not bother to pick up another novel by Bacigalupi. It’s not crap, it just isn’t my thing.

-D.G.

"The Outlaw Album" by Daniel Woodrell - Book Review - Short Story Collection

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I picked up this short volume at a library used book sale for one dollar, and am now so very grateful that I did not spend anywhere near the $24.99 retail price (highway robbery for a book that has a large font and is not even 200 pages long). After reading through it, I got the sense that this collection was hurriedly assembled and released as little more than a cash-grab in the wake of the success of the Oscar-nominated film Winter’s Bone, based upon Daniel Woodrell’s novel. I myself read Winter’s Bone and found it to be decently enjoyable. It was not anything mind-blowing, but was entertaining and had compelling characters and an engaging plot, and was the reason I decided to go a little further down the road with Woodrell’s work.

The Outlaw Album, on the other hand, read like a series of college-level in-class writing exercises, and unfinished ones at that. The majority of these stories felt incomplete, like ideas jotted down but never fleshed out. Very few of them had character, and the characters themselves were not memorable. On certain stories, it seems that Woodrell tried to employ a minimal, jump-cut sort of storytelling that often left me bewildered because the scene changes and implied action made very little sense, as if he was attempting to be dark or ironic by leaving the reader to read between the lines and not quite succeeding.

On a more positive note, I will say that a few of the stories were pretty good and had plot arcs that actually made sense and were interesting. Woodrell also occasionally lucked out with a very strong sentence here and there; vivid, eloquent one-liners full of stark detail or metaphors that landed just right. But those two compliments are about as kind as I can be towards this collection, a book that, believe it or not, I had set out with the expectation to enjoy. Very rarely do I feel the need to rip a book up and down, but this volume came across as an amalgam of largely undeveloped stories that whoever edited them must have barely glanced at before giving them the stamp of approval.

Woodrell’s writing is, in this case, like a second rate Donald Ray Pollock, or a third rate Cormac McCarthy. He has neither the devastating punch nor the literary touch that those men do. If you want some quality Southern fiction with grit as well as heart, read those authors instead.

-D.G.

"The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt - Book Review

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Best to get the nasty stuff out of the way early: the first and most glaring issue with this book is that it could have been utterly fantastic if it were 30,000 - 50,000 words shorter. I’m not exaggerating.

Long books are fine; I’m fond of a number of literary tomes. Books that take their time to develop and unfold can be wonderful. But in the case of The Goldfinch, there are passages that needlessly go on for far too long once the reader has already gotten the picture (heh heh). One particular exchange of dialogue towards the end of the book is drawn out so long in an (ineffective) effort to build tension that it literally had me cursing out loud to just get on with the reveal already. Other sections were flamboyantly self-indulgent, and while they were well written, they were also wholly necessary and trying too hard to come across as reverential. There were some particular similes used that were so eye-rollingly corny and out of place that an editor with any sense would have promptly zapped them out of the text.

Now, all of that sounds rather harsh for a book that I actually think it is a triumph and one that I ultimately enjoyed quite a lot. This book is wonderful, it just could have benefited from some hearty editing, and it took about 150 pages to get interesting.

As to the author’s strengths, there is no question that Donna Tartt’s prose is capable of being uncannily eloquent at times. She writes these swirling, dreamy passages so full of heart and carefully detailed familiarity that one tends to be carried away on her words and forget that they are reading altogether. Also, her ability to write dialogue is impeccable; to say that her characters speak like real, living, breathing souls doesn’t aptly describe it. Her descriptions are lush with details and are such that she must be drawing from a deep well of personal experience, so diverse are the areas of life the novel touches upon.

The Goldfinch has a curious flow about it, since the plot goes through a series of patterns that circle back around on each other, blooming and changing each time they recur like a massive kaleidoscope of events. And while the book only spans a period of somewhere around eighteen years and the narrator is still a young man by the end, there is this inherent sense of a great deal of time passing, as if the reader is watching someone’s life unfold from beginning to end with all the vivid, minute characteristics of everyday life. Believe it or not, that isn’t another jab to the length of the book—I’m saying it’s one of the novel’s strengths.

Boris, the main character’s unpredictable but endlessly loyal best friend, has earned a place in my favorite characters of literature. He was hilarious with an exuberant personality, a lover of life, not entirely safe and yet dumbfoundingly lucky. He enters the story roughly one-third of the way in, and it was at this point that I thought the book really came into its own. Boris contributed substantially to my sticking with the novel.

The main character himself, Theodore Decker, begins as a less than confident young man for whom the reader quickly feels some degree of sympathy because of the unavoidable tragedy that befalls him. The simplest way to describe the situation in which he finds himself in is crude: it just… absolutely sucks, and you can’t help but feel troubled for him. As the novel unfolds, the reader observes as Theo grows and becomes a man, changing all the while, though in many ways not for the better.

There is a great deal of alcohol and substance use (and abuse) throughout the book, though I found this to be more interesting than tragic; the odd, wide-eyed fascination of watching someone else continue to harm themselves and make poor decisions with horrific consequences. The drugs and booze are certainly presented in a negative, destructive light.

The Goldfinch concludes with a lengthy, larger-than-life speech from the narrator that attempts to somehow sum up the varied and complicated events that took place before it, though it rang a bit heavy-handed to my ears. As a writer, I can relate to the desire to want to give your readers some epic, all-encompassing, cosmic monologue that takes into account space, time, God, love, life, death, and every created thing (which is what I felt this speech was trying to do), but it did not quite work for me for two reasons: 1. the book was strong enough already without it, and 2. this book really cannot be summed up in a few pages. That said, I suppose I do not have any real room to criticize because I have no damn idea how a novel of this scope and length could have been ended in any way that would be perceived as “just right.”

The Goldfinch is a one of those reads that only comes around every decade or so. Unfortunately, it is also the sort of novel that attracts the booky-snobs, but who pays attention to them anyway? This book is lovely and powerful, but it is also an undertaking. Read it if you’re okay with stories being slow and taking their time. Read it if you’re okay with your main characters drinking a lot of alcohol and doing a lot of coke and heroin. Read it if you enjoy Russian culture. Read it if you’re really into art or antique furniture. And read it if you’re a writer; you’ll come out the other end with your mind expanded and a few new tricks in your bag.

-D.G.

2015: A REVIEW IN BOOKS

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1. Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn - 10/10 (To me, this book was a flawless thriller. It blew me away numerous times, and the conclusion was crushing. Even though it's become a pop-lit sensation, it has more depth than one might expect)

2. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand - 8/10 (Howard Roark is a character like none other I've ever encountered in literature. What a book. Would have called it a perfect "10" if it hadn't dragged so much in the last third)

3. Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis - 7/10 (second time reading this. Wonderful, inspiring, uplifting)

4. Broken Monsters, Lauren Beukes  - 7/10 (Great premise with some incredibly creative moments, but a very misguided and meandering book that lacked fluidity in its blending of genres)

5. I Am Legend, Richard Matheson - 8/10 (Unbelievably strong writing. Matheson's ideas were ages ahead of his time)

6. Live and Let Die, Ian Fleming - 7/10 (My first Bond book. A quick, entertaining little read)

7. Revival, Stephen King - 6/10 (Not one of his best. Strangely paced and with an ending that felt a bit out of left field, but it had some good moments, primarily the music-related passages)

8. Gateways to Abomination, Matthew M. Bartlett - 8/10 (the face of new horror. This man is trailblazing into insane territory, and it's brain-melting)

9. The Sound and the Fury, William Faulkner - 8/10 (Challenging, but excellent)

10. Duma Key, Stephen King - 9/10 (Possibly my favorite King novel since Lisey's Story. Diverse, character-rich, artful, bizarre)

11. Flight of the Blue Falcon, Jonathan Raab - 7/10

12. The Martian, Andy Weir - 6/10 (A rare case where the movie was better than the book. Weir's writing is primarily a series of technical [but interesting] expositions, while the movie has a fleshed-out cast of diverse and developed characters)

13. Finders Keepers, Stephen King - 9/10 (Second book in the Bill Hodges trilogy. Leans a bit too heavily on coincidence, but I still really had fun with this one)

14. The JAWS Log, Carl Gottlieb - 7/10 (The backstory to the production of one of the greatest films of our time. Fascinating)

15. As I Lay Dying, William Faulkner - 9/10 (Overall more accessible than The Sound and the Fury. A strong and heartbreaking gem)

16. In the Woods, Tana French - 10/10 (A masterful mystery with incredible depth and realistic characters. French was my favorite new author [new to me, that is] discovery this year)

17. The Likeness, Tana French - 8/10 (A premise that is intriguing but a bit of a stretch riding on the heels of In the Woods. Still, her voice is strong enough that the story was solid)

18. The Pursuit of God, A.W. Tozer - 10/10

19. Lunar Park, Bret Easton Ellis - 8/10 (This has become my favorite B.E.E. work. A meticulously crafted piece of curious meta-horror)

20. Rose Madder, Stephen King - 5/10 (I almost couldn't finish this one. His weakest book, save The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon)

21. The Pleasure Merchant, Molly Tanzer - 3/10 (Well written, but not my cup of tea)

22. Donnybrook, Frank Bill - 6/10 (Had its moments, but mostly a series of gruesome actions being done by characters who are too similar to each other to be told apart)

23. Twelve Ordinary Men, John MacArthur - 4/10

24. The Familiar, Volume 1: One Rainy Day in May, Mark Z. Danielewski - 8/10 (I almost didn't begin this 27-volume series because it sounded too daunting/pretentious, but holy shit... am I glad I did. Like nothing else I've ever read; endlessly creative, full of mystery but with just enough clues and breadcrumbs to keep the reader going. Like LOST in some ways, but better)

25. The Familiar, Volume 2: Into the Forest, Mark Z. Danielewski - 8/10 (Vol. 1 was the introduction; Vol. 2 kicks it into high gear. Cannot wait for Vols. 3 and 4 this year)

26. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien - 9/10 (HOW/WHY did I wait so long to read this series?!? What an experience it must have been for those who read them before the films... Should have done that)

UNFINISHED or IN PROGRESS:

• Firestarter, Stephen King - Lost interest, or perhaps it just wasn't the right time. This is the first time I've started a King novel and not finished it. Will probably pick it up again at some point.

• Catch-22, Joseph Heller - Stopped after 120 pages because it was stupid, pointless, and I have no clue as to how or why it became a bestseller. I'm not the target audience, apparently.

• Mystery & Manners: Occasional Prose, Flannery O'Connor - This is a wonderful collection of lectures and essays that I don't so much read straight through as pick up from time to time throughout the year and read an individual piece or two. I would highly recommend to authors or creatives in general, I've found it hugely inspiring and insightful.

• The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt - Began the audiobook for this one late in the year and am still making my way through it. Enjoying it, it's just 900 hours long.

• The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien - Currently reading. Where Fellowship took a while to get moving, this one starts with a bang and has been thrilling from the start.

• The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky - Currently reading as part of a newly-joined book club. Several years back I wasn't able to make it through Crime and Punishment so we'll see how this goes...

• Stories NOT for the Nervous, Alfred Hitchcock (editor, [except he wasn't]), Various Authors - This is a pocket paperback from 1965 of macabre stories from various authors, supposedly compiled or selected by Alfred Hitchcock. The "editor" title on the book is misleading, however, because I found out that Hitchcock himself was not an editor and had nothing whatsoever to do with the choosing of the stories in the collection, he merely cashed a check for allowing the publisher to put his name on a series of books containing spooky stories because they'd sell (A LOT) more copies that way. Though the collection was enjoyable, this piece of information somewhat killed it for me. Well played, Alfie--not.

"The Familiar" Volume 2: Into the Forest by Mark Z. Danielewski - Book Review

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It is difficult to know just how to properly review this second volume in Danielewski’s massive series-in-progress. It is so inseparably tied to the first book that to describe the plot that is forming would take far too long and, more importantly, would give too much away. Plus, there are parts of the story that have thus far been presented in such a minimalistic and abstract fashion that I’m not exactly sure what is going on yet, though I have confidence these things will be revealed over time. I’ve learned from experience that Danielewski may set up a lot of mysteries for his readers, but he also always pays them off eventually.

    I can say that after finishing Into the Forest, I am more excited than ever for this series to keep going. As other reviewers have said, stepping into Volume 2 is much easier because the reader has already tackled the hurdle of understanding the structure and flow of the books by reading Volume 1. With that obstacle out of the way, it frees up the reader to move through the story more quickly and naturally, keeping out a keen eye for clues and hints that the author may be leaving for us.

    If Volume 1 introduced us to the gigantic mythos Danielewski is building, Volume 2 cracked it open that much wider and revealed that things are only going to get more trippy from here. We’ve also been shown a little more of the pure enormity of scale that this series is going to encompass (paranormal or multi-dimensional creatures? Possible computer-simulated lives?? A young girl who is coming untethered from our world and crossing over into another one??? These aren't spoilers because they're only my best guesses and may be wholly incorrect). I confess, my limited brain could imagine perhaps another seven or eight volumes finishing out this story (judging by the arc it has taken so far), but to think that the author has another twenty-five volumes in store for us is mind-blowing, and I cannot wait to see what he’s come up with.

    But Volume 2 is not just better because it’s weirder, more violent, and goes into new territory with the creative formatting. It also delved deeper into the hearts of the characters, which I think is key with a story of this size. It would be one thing for the author to make a massive series that had crazy formatting with strange convoluted text and images just to be pretentious or “for the sake of art,” but Danielewski has shown us yet again that he is also a good writer who can tell a good story and craft lifelike characters. The Familiar would not get very far if we didn’t care about at least some of the people at the heart of the tale. And I do.

    I guess that’s about all I can say. If you liked Volume 1, you pretty much cannot go wrong with Volume 2. I think it will solidify your faith in the series that much more, and you’ll be patiently waiting with the rest of us to get your hands on Volume 3. If you are somehow reading this without even having read Volume 1 of The Familiar, get it into your life right now. It will undoubtedly be one of the most unique reading experiences you are likely to have.

-D.G.

"The Familiar" Volume 1: One Rainy Day in May by Mark Z. Danielewski - Book Review

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As you may already know, The Familiar is not a book/series that lends itself easily to review. Instead of trying to summarize the complicated and many-faceted plot, I will rather share a few thoughts on the experience of getting through Volume 1.

To be honest, when I first read the announcement about this series something like five years ago, my initial thought was, “That sounds pretentious and exhausting.” I had already read Danielewski’s House of Leaves at the time and enjoyed it quite a lot (challenging though it was), but a story that was projected to be 27-volumes long about a girl and her cat(??) sounded like too much.

However, after having recently heard Mark Z. Danielewski interviewed on Bret Easton Ellis’ podcast in promotion of Volume 2 of The Familiar, my interest was piqued. Danielewski was completely down to earth in the interview and his personality seemed the farthest thing from pretentious. His fervor and passion in talking about the project was too intriguing to ignore.

How wrong I was in my initial assessment!

This past week, I flew through Volume 1; I could not put it down. And yes, it was challenging at times and required an extra layer of careful attention that many books do not demand, but there was enough intrigue and mystery happening to keep me wanting more and moving forward. And I discovered quickly that that was the key: moving forward. Similar to the works of William Faulkner or James Joyce, it is best not to get too caught up in the moments that are unclear or confusing and push onward, because eventually those threads will begin to come together and your questions will be answered. If you try to read into every little clue and image or theorize about where the plot is headed in the middle of the book, you’ll drive yourself insane. Keep going, the story does pay off. Also, this being only the first of many volumes, the author isn’t going to reveal all of his tricks at once.

There was something enticing even in the physical act of turning pages at a fairly rapid pace, as many of the fonts are large or some pages have nothing more than a single sentence or word. Although the page count is 880, the word count adds up to something closer to a 250- or 300- page novel, and a quick-moving one at that. There was a wonderful balance of uncertainty and payoff, as well as weirdness and warmth. There are some enormous head-scratchers and curious elements throughout the book that may not be explained until many volumes down the line, but Danielewski isn’t just trolling us with a series that is bizarre and difficult for the sake of bizarre and difficult. There is a very clear story going on here with vivid, beautiful, and heart-engaging characters, particularly the family unit of Xanther (the teenage girl who rescues the cat), her mother Astair and her stepfather Anwar. Certain other characters only drop in very briefly and their passages are abstract and difficult to discern, but then again, we’ve only just met them, and surely their roles in this overarching tale will be revealed in time.

While reading the book I got a frequent sense of its bigness, and I don’t just mean page length or knowing how many more books there are to come. The story itself is something like a small peek into a vast universe; there is a strong sensation of much, much more lying just “beyond the curtain” of this world. The Familiar blends and transcends space, time, countries, races, species, technology, humanity, spirituality, and is meta and self-referential even in its structure as a novel. From front to back cover, not a single page is wasted, for even the pre- and post-story content is artful and intentional, offering more clues into the universe Danielewski is unveiling for us. The book is more to be experienced than read, and it is so visual and presentational in nature that it could be likened in many ways to a feature film. Lucky for us, this is only the first act.

-D.G.

"Rose Madder" Book Review - Stephen King

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I have read thirty-seven of Stephen King's books at this point in my life, and never have I struggled so much with not wanting to finish one, nor has finishing one taken me such a long period of time as with Rose Madder. I cannot place my finger on exactly why I felt this book dragged on and on, taking almost two months for me to get through it, as I would set it down for weeks at a time and have almost no interest in picking it back up save for a desire to see if it got better and to know what happened in the end. King has had a few duds over the years (I didn't care much for The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon and Blaze probably would have been just as well left unpublished. Roadwork was simply not that interesting) as would any author with a catalog as large as his, but there is at least some redeeming quality in all of his works—that inexplicable King-ness—that keeps myself and millions of other readers coming back to him time and again.

That King-ness was present in Rose Madder as well, and to be clear, I'm not calling this novel a dud, per se. The opening chapter is heart-wrenching and immediately engaging on an emotional level. We are introduced with striking clarity to the victimized Rose Daniels and her psychotic husband Norman (whose craziness and violence rivals only Beverly Marsh's husband Tom Rogan in IT). In the book's opening scene, Rose is beaten so badly that she loses the child with which she was pregnant, yet stays with her husband for a number of torturous years. She finally decides to leave him (not a spoiler) and free herself from his abuse and manipulation to find a new life on her own.

What follows is a tedious recounting of Rose moving to a new city, finding a place to stay as well as an unexpected job, making some new friends, discovering a love interest, etc. And while we care about Rose's well-being through all of this, there was a dawning realization as the book went on that, for lack of a better phrase, nothing else was going to happen. What I mean is, until about halfway through the book when some bizarre things finally start coming into play, I thought King had written a “straight” melodramatic novel about a troubled wife leaving her monstrous husband. It would have been completely fine if that is what the book ended up being, I'm just saying it gave the whole story an imbalanced feeling when it took so many pages to get to “the point.” I thought many times over that this could have been a great novella, a nice tight hundred page story as opposed to a three hundred plus page hardback with heaps of filler material.

While some of the weird stuff later on was cool and fun to read (a maze with a Centaur, a magical image-shifting painting, a woman in a blood red robe who is very far from safe or sane), it ultimately didn't make a lot of sense or tie together in the way that most of King's stories do. It frankly felt like strangeness thrown in for the sake of strange instead of a story that melded well with and allowed for certain oddities.

Despite my critical tone here, once I finished the book I was ultimately glad that I stuck with it. It does have a few minor ties to The Dark Tower universe which I enjoyed picking up on, and Norman Daniels was a terrifying antagonist. He was the sort of villain that one could imagine being a real person, and dwelling on that is scarier than any monster.

So, all this to say, Rose Madder was just all right. It had some good moments and was worth a read for any King completist, but could have been a whole lot shorter and probably stronger for it.

-D.G.

"Lunar Park" Book Review - Bret Easton Ellis

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Bret Easton Ellis ventures into horror, weird and supernatural territory; who knew he had it in him?

The story is that of Bret Ellis, an author whose work made him famous from a very young age, and who has enjoyed a life of extravagance, wealth and relative ease apart from the drama in his private life. The book begins with an exposition of Bret's history (which contains both fact and fiction), beginning with his college days and the hugely successful publishing of Less Than Zero that made him a celebrity almost overnight. The opening chapter goes on to expound Bret's various troubled relationships with men and women, his drug use and partying, his gallivanting around New York and Los Angeles through expensive hotels and restaurants with his author friend Jay McInerney, his book tours for which he was scarcely sober (or coherent) and the repercussions of the terrible relationship he had with his late father.

Fathers and sons is a strong them in the novel. One of the most curious elements (when held up against Bret's actual life) is that he marries a fictional actress (in real life Ellis is gay) of substantial renown who has two children; a girl of seven or eight and a boy of eleven. His relationship with the boy, Robby, is strained from the start. At first, Bret seems disinterested in pursuing either of his step-children but becomes increasingly obsessed with making right with Robby in particular as the story goes on. Meanwhile, he wrestles with anger towards his dead father and the lack of closure they had when he passed.

Much of the weirdness of the book (which builds slowly and is expertly subtle—until it isn't) revolves around Ellis' previous books, as well as his father. For example, a young man named Clay (same name as the main character of Less Than Zero) shows up to Bret's Halloween party dressed as Patrick Bateman (the psychopathic killer from American Psycho). Bret keeps receiving blank emails at exactly 2:40 a.m. from the bank where his father's ashes are kept in a safe deposit box. He keeps seeing a cream colored Mercedes Benz 450 SL—the same car that his father owned and he himself drove as a teenager—parked outside his house or at the college where he teaches. To top it all off, preteen boys have been mysteriously disappearing all around the city... All that only scratches the surface; there's plenty of other weirdness that happens, as well as sections that are downright creepy and wrought with suspense.

What comes as such a surprise (though perhaps it shouldn't) is just how damn good Bret Easton Ellis is at combining a genuinely engaging story of a broken man and his troubled relationships with elements that are absolutely bizarre. Somehow, he makes this combination work. I suppose it is surprising because, apart from one short story that involves a vampire in his collection The Informers, Ellis' work always remains in the realm of the “real.” So to read material of his that would be perfectly suited inside a Stephen King novel is a unique pleasure. 

There is a careful amalgamation going on in this book of factual Bret mixed with fictional Bret melding into an altogether strange central character whose reliability is questionable (not for his narrative dishonesty, but for his paranoia and abuse of drugs and alcohol). Additionally, I loved the meta quality of the novel—a literary gamble, and not an easy technique to pull off well—how it was written to be self-aware, self-referencing, branching outside the norms of a typical narrative and inclusive of Ellis' other works.

Having read all of his other works prior to this one (with the exception of The Rules of Attraction), Lunar Park became my new favorite before I was even halfway through it. I'm a sucker for strange fiction and already enjoyed Ellis' work so I may be biased, but I consider this book a triumph. Not many people can so expertly blend the dramatic with the weird.

-D.G.

"The Likeness" Book Review - Tana French - Dublin Murder Squad Book #2

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I have mixed feelings about this book. I began reading it immediately after finishing French's stellar debut novel, the award-winning In the Woods (which I raved about here), and while in The Likeness the initial premise is intriguing and a little out of left-field for the genre, it quickly devolved into something tedious and slow.

While In the Woods did take its time and was a “slow-burn” story (for lack of a better term), it was still well told, interesting from start to finish, and read like a detective story with some literary flair. The Likeness reads more like a tense family drama or—sad, but true—something a step or two up from a soap opera. I don't know if this says anything of the book's quality, but I read In the Woods in a week; The Likeness took me nearly a month. I knew I wanted to finish it, but the prospect was not an exciting one. It was hard to want to pick it back up and keep going.

It begins with Cassie Maddox (co-star of In the Woods and one of my favorite characters from that novel) being called to a crime scene even though she had transferred out of Murder six months prior and was working in Domestic Violence at the time. She quickly realizes the reason for the call because the dead body lying on the cold floor of an abandoned cottage is hers—or at least, it looks exactly like her (thus the title). What ensues next is Cassie taking on the identity of the dead young woman in an attempt to track down her killer. This involves Cassie moving in with four college students in Whitethorn House, a dilapidated mansion in Glenskehy and the former home of the dead woman.

Cassie's period living with these students—Daniel, Justin, Rafe, and Abby—takes up the rest of the novel, and it is here where my comparison to a soap opera comes in. While this part of the book is still technically well written with strong characters and decent dialogue, very little of it feels like an investigation, which left me as the reader somewhat bewildered. To go from one book that is very much a detective story into its direct sequel and get a drama with a circumstantial mystery thrown in felt off-kilter somehow.

It probably sounds as if I'm bashing the book so far. Well, I said at the start that I had mixed feelings about this one, and here's why: I cannot say that, overall, it was a bad book, just a weird one. I can say that, even though it took some extra effort, I am glad I finished it, and by the end felt that the experience had actually been a pretty good one. It was just so wholly different than its predecessor that it almost felt like the two did not belong together at all—even though The Likeness intimately intertwines with people and events from In the Woods. The whole doppelganger thing was a bit of a stretch, and even though seeing it play out was somewhat fun, it felt like the author was throwing in a dash of fantasy or sci-fi in an otherwise straight-faced series.

But here's the thing: wacky as the concept was, French made me believe it. At no point did her commitment to the premise falter, and even though this sort of thing probably would not ever happen in real life, she executed every aspect with as much reality as possible, and it held up pretty well.

I see that other reviewers have complained about the book's length and I can't disagree. I mentioned it took me a while to get through this one and that is at least partly why. There is an enormous chunk of the book where Cassie is just hanging out with her college roommates—drinking and smoking a lot, playing games, having picnics, listening to records, fixing up their house—and while this section solidifies the reader's idea of who each of these people are as characters, it simply isn't very interesting to sit through. Breakthroughs in the case come few and far between, and isn't that the main reason we read books like this one?

So, like I said: mixed feelings. The Likeness is not great, but it's also not terrible. It's a strange little book that feels like a distant cousin to In the Woods as opposed to a sister or brother. For folks who liked In the Woods as much as I did, I'd say this one is a toss-up. You might love it, or you might be totally thrown off by it. I'm somewhere in between those two. If you're willing to give the author a little leeway, then there's probably a nugget of enjoyment to be found.

-D.G.

"As I Lay Dying" Book Review - William Faulkner

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As I Lay Dying is one of those titles that I had heard thrown around by friends or fellow readers—both in praise and in distaste—for years before ever picking it up for myself. It was required reading for my highschool girlfriend in AP English (which is ironic, because she hated reading, whereas I loved to read, yet I was in “regular” English). I would hear classmates talking about the book and the fact that it was hard to understand and that each chapter was told from a different character's perspective, which intrigued me. At some point James Franco went and made that low-budget adaptation of the novel that, according to the unreliable opinion of the internet, is godawful.

Having been blown away by what is arguably Faulkner's most famous and beloved work, The Sound and the Fury, earlier this year, I took a brief repose into other authors' books before deciding it was time to dive into some Faulkner once again. One has to be in the right mindset to read Faulkner, or at least I do, as his books can be challenging and require utmost attention, thus reading him takes a bit of mental steeling and careful intention. A simple beach-read type of author, he was not, and yet in the case of these two novels, the payoff was well worth the effort put forth. And when things got tough to follow or all the necessary pieces of the puzzle had not yet been given? I learned to just keep going. Faulkner's breadcrumb trails always led to somewhere.

As I Lay Dying has its challenging moments, but overall it is a more straightforward story than Fury. The tale centers around Addie Bundren, a self-righteous and stubborn woman who is oft found wallowing in her own troubles and is on her deathbed at the beginning of the novel. It is her dying wish that her body be transported to Jefferson, Mississippi to be buried with her ancestors. She lies in bed while watching her oldest son work outside the window all day, Cash, who is building by hand the wooden coffin in which Addie will be buried. Addie's teenage daughter, Dewey Dell, stands by her side, fanning her in the heat. The middle son, Jewel, is a cynical bastard, cruel and impatient with the rest of his family, and his only pride in life is in caring for his horse, Snopes. Darl is the most “normal” and articulate of the sons, and narrates more chapters in the book than any other character. Vardaman is the youngest son, an imaginative and curious little boy who observes his older brothers with a sort of quiet fascination. Lastly is Anse, or “Pa,” Bundren, a slack-jawed man who spends his days sitting on the porch and staring into the fields, and who has not lifted a finger to work in twenty years or more due to some ambiguous injury in his younger days. He, like Addie, has his own sense of self-righteousness and stubbornness, although he is completely un-intimidating and the children mostly view him as a bother and a chore.

The main plot consists of Addie's death near the start of the book and the family's troublesome journey to Jefferson to bury her, during which time each character expresses their thoughts on the trip, opinions of their fellow family members and their motives for going along.

Two similarities between Dying and Fury struck me: First is that both tell stories of large families in the South that may have at one time been stable in terms of income, had a level of respect in their communities and perhaps once resembled something like a healthy family unit, but at the time we are introduced to them in the novels they are crumbling into broken, pathetic messes, barely holding on to life and dignity. Irony and tragedy are all over these books, as well as dark humor, and Faulkner's keen sense of the fleetingness of life is on full display. I find it interesting that he explored the dissolution of Southern families in particular (understanding, of course, that he did grow up there, so there were the sort of people with which he was familiar). His books also seem to paint the Christian faith in a mocking, satirical light and expose the errors of greed and pride. Secondly, both books include a character who is mentally unwell. The more obvious of the two is Benjamin Compson in Fury, although Cash's mental instability becomes more and more apparent throughout Dying until the culmination at the end of the book when he literally goes crazy. It is a tragic scene, as is much of the novel, and serves to further express the madness of the whole premise.

The final scene left me shaking my head and muttering phrases of disbelief out loud for several minutes, though that is not to say the ending wasn't quite “good,” at least in terms of being a fitting close to the book. This is quite a novel, and I can see why it is heralded alongside Fury as being one of Faulkner's best. It is also very dark and at times demented, especially considering the time and social climate in which it was written. For some reason, I am glad for having read The Sound and the Fury first, although I am not sure why. Perhaps it gave me a better perspective with which to approach more of his work.

Long story short, Faulkner was a genius, and a master of minimalism and ironic symbolism. Any serious lover of literature is doing themselves a disservice if they have overlooked his work.

-D.G.

"In The Woods" Book Review - Tana French - Dublin Murder Squad Book #1

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Every once in awhile you come across a book of such genius that, once you finish the final page and close the volume, leaves you thinking, “Now just how the hell did they come up with that?” In the Woods was that way for me, although I did not recognize that the book was brilliant from the beginning; it snuck up on me.

It was given to me as a wedding gift (in 2010, when it was already three years old) and had always intrigued me, yet sat untouched on my bookshelf for five years. Every time I picked it up, ready for a new book and perusing my shelves for the next thing to read, I would always internally cite that it was “not the right time of life” for that particular book.

As a side note, I have an odd, almost autistic-level obsessive compulsion about choosing what book to read next, insistent that I need to find just the right book that will hit me just the right way and match my mood for that particular period in life. Being between books—existing in that tiny window of savory time, having finished the previous thing and getting to choose the next thing—is too sweet and exciting to approach lightly, at least for me. That, and the fact that I own more than 300 volumes between two eight foot high shelves and have only read perhaps one third of them creates a certain self-inflicted pressure to make some progress through my miniature library (which only grows as life goes on). Too many books, too little time.

I say that the genius of this book snuck up on me because from the beginning I did not necessarily find it riveting or demanding in the hook of its initial premise, and yet it had a soft, quiet, un-put-down-able quality that kept me coming back to take in large portions at a time.

It begins as a “normal” enough murder mystery—horrific though the murder is—with a twelve year old girl found dead on an ancient sacrificial stone in the middle of an archaeological dig in Knocknaree, Ireland. What is revealed very early on is that this story encircles not one mystery but two, the second having happened thirty-some years earlier and directly involving one of the lead investigators on the dead girl's case, Detective Robert Ryan. The story is told from Rob's perspective, and like any good character he is complex, likable yet broken, and at times, unreliable as a narrator. From the very start, he confesses his own unreliability to the reader with the simple line: “I lie.”

The strength of this novel lies in the depth of its characters, and particularly in the relationship between the two protagonists, Det. Ryan and his partner Det. Cassie Maddox. Their partnership and friendship is a unique one, and some of the book's best moments are passages of their dialogue together. While the story is dark and heavy in an overall sense, it is not lacking for humor, diversity, and welcome breaks from the main plot. There are a number of offshoots and explored leads in the investigation that help spice up the narrative and keep the reader guessing—along with the detectives—which paths will be fruitful and which are dead ends. And while this has been clunkily grouped into the “Mystery” genre (which, admittedly, it is), it is also much more than your simple beach-read thriller, and literary to the core in all the best ways. The aspect of Det. Ryan's background and the demons that haunt him into adulthood is a piece of the novel that is expertly explored, as is the thread of his relationship with Cassie and how it evolves throughout the story. No wonder the book won a number of awards.

Tana French has an incredible sensibility for how humans think, act, and speak. Her dialogue is spot on (nothing is better than reading a book where characters talk the way real people talk), her characters diverse and vibrant, and her ability to craft a complex story impeccable. There were several moments that had me gasping (or moaning) out loud, as I was so invested in these characters and ached at the trials they had to endure. Cassie Maddox quickly became one of my favorite characters I have ever encountered in literature, and I don't use that superlative lightly. Thank goodness she appears in at least one more of French's subsequent novels. It is rare for me to finish a book and be left wanting to spend more time with the characters, but that was absolutely the case here.

I read a lot of books, though not many mysteries, and this one simply blew me away. For all intents and purposes, it is in my mind a “perfect” story; the sort of thing you walk away from thrilled about and perturbed at the same time that you didn't think of it first. This is the sort of writing to which I aspire.

If it isn't already clear: I cannot recommend this book highly enough.

-D.G.

"The Jaws Log" Book Review - Carl Gottlieb - The Making of JAWS (1975), a diary from the set of the hit movie

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For the hardcore Jaws fan, this is fun and certainly worth a read. However, after finishing this I watched the two hour documentary featured on the Jaws BluRay and essentially most of the same stories surrounding the production are told there as well, and more colorfully.

Gottlieb is an okay writer, but he tends to go off on small tangents throughout the book that are not directly relevant to the making of Jaws. Granted, he wasn't shooting for some grand literary feat with this small volume, and basically the book consists of nothing more than collected stories and interviews from before, during, and after production. The whole book has a somewhat cutesy, lighthearted quality, full of all the fish, bite, and water puns one might expect. Part of this, I suppose, is a product of it being a book from 1975; there is a playful tongue-in-cheek vibe about it, reminiscent of “simpler” times.

Reading this gave me a whole new appreciation for Jaws as a film (even with it already being one of my favorites) because the making of it was truly a disaster. One key reason for this is that filming a giant mechanical shark that was painstakingly made to look real had simply never been done before. Pair that with Spielberg's perfectionist approach and the fact that they filmed 12 miles from shore in order to appear being far out into the sea, and you've got a perfect storm of things that can go wrong—and they did. Admittedly, a book could probably be written about the making of nearly any major budget movie and the slew of obstacles that come up during production of a film, but what makes the story of Jaws remarkable is that somehow Spielberg and his editor, an industry veteran named Verna Fields, were able to scrounge together reels and reels of footage from a disastrous shoot and turn it into one of the most beloved films of all time.

There were a few things mentioned that would certainly not fly by today's standards. For example, the crew members were actively killing sharks for sport in between shots while out on the water. The author mentions this with an air that communicates he actually found it humorous, and says that it was the crew's way of taking revenge on the fact that they were miserable, homesick, and far over schedule. Not cool. Additionally, there were passing comments about crew members drinking beer throughout the shooting days. I'm fairly certain that alcohol is strictly off-limits on set these days, at least for crew (the talent may be another story).

Anyhow, I came away from this with a greater fondness for Spielberg and the passion with which he approaches his work (plus the fact that he was twenty-seven when he finished this film; my current age, by the way). On the contrary, my perception of a few of the film's stars was tarnished, but not greatly. They're actors, they live in their own world and sometimes they're divas, and there is nothing we lowly common folk can do about it.

Film buffs or avid fans of the movie will probably enjoy this. It was a quick and entertaining read with some interesting behind the scenes stories.

-D.G.

"Finders Keepers" by Stephen King - Book Review - Mr. Mercedes Trilogy

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Before noting a couple of negatives about this book, I will declare first that overall I enjoyed it—quite a lot, actually, and perhaps even more than Mr. Mercedes. However, it was not without its issues.

I do not know whether I am becoming more attentive to (and critical of) plot patterns as I get older and mature as a reader, or whether Stephen King is merely simplifying his narratives as he gets older, but this book had some happenstances that were just a little too convenient to be believable (yes, even barring the suspension of disbelief that ought to be employed when reading King). What bothers me is when a character and their story are established as a stand-alone entity (I'm talking about Morris Bellamy in this case), but then are plugged into a preexisting plot in such a way that everything falls into place a little too perfectly. Somehow it feels like lazy writing, or like combining two things that don't necessarily belong, but shaping the narrative in such a way that forces them to belong. Perhaps that is always the nature of sequels to some degree, but it was prominent enough in Finders Keepers to be a tad irksome. I do not expect that all readers will notice (or be bothered by) this angle.

Stephen King does seem to be parring down the length of his books in the past few years (I'm thinking of Revival, Mr. Mercedes, and Doctor Sleep, primarily), allowing stories to glide forward at a steady pace rather than let them breathe and grow incrementally. IT, Insomnia, 11/22/63, Pet Sematary, and Under the Dome, to name a few, took their time allowing the reader to “hang out” with the characters for a while in situations that were at times inconsequential but almost always enriching to the story overall because they brought those people to life. This is not necessarily a criticism, King is still churning out exciting and original work in his mid-sixties, after all, but I have taken note over the past few releases that this quicker pace has become somewhat of a pattern.

That said, the first two-thirds of Finders Keepers were riveting (as was the third, in a different way). I consumed this book in just a few lengthy reading sessions and couldn't help but think the whole time that it could have easily been its own stand-alone book, disconnected from the Detective Bill Hodges trilogy that began with Mr. Mercedes. However, there was a sensation of inner glee once Hodges does make his first appearance in the book, a bangin' scene that reintroduces the man at the top of his P.I. game, reminding me of who this character is and why I loved him in the first book. Holly and Jerome return as well, of course, completing the trio of investigating misfits who happen to have an off-kilter talent for sleuthing.

What is rather odd about Finders Keepers is that Hodges, Jerome, and Holly are almost the most insignificant element of the story, even though their characters are what spawned this sequel in the first place. They do have some key involvement towards the end of the book, and the quirkiness of the three of them interacting together makes their presence enjoyable no matter what, but the main bulk of the novel focuses on the madman Morris Bellamy, a boy named Pete Saubers, and the fictional author John Rothstein, whose work ties their fates together in a complicated fashion. As I mentioned, the entire book could have been about Bellamy and Saubers, and would have been no less engaging for it.

Book lovers in particular will find a little something extra to enjoy about this plot, as it deals heavily with literature, its value, and the profound affect a book or series can have on a passionate reader.

In all, this is essentially what one might expect from a sequel to Mr. Mercedes, but that is not to say it wasn't a fun read with enjoyable faces both new and familiar. I will say that the ending particularly delighted me, and for obvious reasons I won't mention why here. Let's just say that book three of the Hodges trilogy ought to get pretty damn exciting.

-D.G.

"The Martian" Andy Weir - Book Review

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Plenty well enough has been said about this story (and its pending film) already. By the time I received the book for Christmas in 2014 (at which time I had never heard of it), it was already quite a phenomenon. With that in mind, here are a few thoughts anyway.

First of all, the publishing history of how this book came to be in its current form is an interesting story itself. This can be heard firsthand by Andy Weir over at the Inquiring Minds podcast—great interview, too. I must confess, I love to hear these “success stories” from indie authors who simply write something because it brings them joy, then they gain an online following that they weren't even trying for, then end up releasing something to universal acclaim. Hugh Howey comes to mind.

As to the quality of the writing in The Martian, it leaves a bit to be desired. Without meaning to sound condescending, it reads exactly like it what it is: a fictional narrative written by an engineer who could out-quiz the lot of us under the table. It is clunky in places, corny in even more places, and much of the character dialogue consists of typical, familiar tropes. Despite these things, Weir manages to pull off what is ultimately a well-paced and -developed plot, even if his phrasing is nothing original and his characters are fairly cookie-cutter apart from Mark Watney himself.

Watney is, for the most part, an enjoyable character (if corny at times), and I think he probably had to be a fun character for all the lengthy passages of oration detailing mathematical and scientific processes. Were he flat, many readers would probably give up by Page 20. Reviewers have praised the humor in this book, although to my ear it came off as eye-rollingly bad in places, chock-full of the worst pun-fodder your dad could ever come up with. But at least the author was breaking up the monotony that could have come from so many explanatory sections describing Watney's many survival tasks. Also, it will be interesting to see how much of the humor makes it into Ridley Scott's film, as Matt Damon may be just the actor who can pull off the sort of deadpan delivery to make such cheesy lines believable.

I found the most intriguing part of the book to be the lengthy descriptions of Mark's farming, repairing the HAB, regenerating water for himself, and all the hundreds of other things he must do to survive on Mars. From reading other reviews, I believe I am in the majority with this opinion. To the layman (referring to myself here), there is something so utterly foreign and fascinating about these space and physics concepts that Watney encounters, and it is even more mind-blowing to recognize that there are thousands of people working on these very things every day. The mark of Weir's writing talent comes through in that he was able to explain extremely complicated processes in such a straightforward, easy-to-follow way. And, goodness sakes, do some of them sound exhausting. There is a reason only a select few out of billions were ever destined to become astronauts.

In all, The Martian was an enjoyable read, even if it is not necessarily great literature (and granted, it has never claimed to be). What you'll get is a fast-moving space thriller surrounding a nugget of scientific research that is entertaining and—so the experts say—pretty close to accurate (or as close to it as Weir could get).

-D.G.

"Gateways to Abomination" Matthew M. Bartlett - Book Review

"If it bleeds, it's Leeds."

These days, it's tough to be scary.

We as a culture have become largely desensitized to horror in every form. We've seen the human body creatively mutilated in every possible which-way, witnessed the exorcisms of so many fictional females we can't even keep their names straight anymore, and watched enough knife or chainsaw wielding psychopaths plunge their instruments into flesh to last us a lifetime. Each of these elements of horror (and many others) can certainly be executed well (heh heh), but how many of these movies or books are just a cheap scare, and how many of them are sticking with us for good? How many of them are keeping us up at night, worried about what might make its way through the darkened door of our bedroom? When was the last time you watched or read something that really shook you up?

For me, the answers to these questions would be Matthew M. Bartlett's bizarre collection of loosely-connected flash fiction and short stories, Gateways to Abomination. Never have I encountered so many completely insane ideas in one volume. Bartlett is a madman, and to the benefit of his readers.

It is difficult to articulate exactly what is so captivating about this collection. The stories are brief and written in a minimalist style. They serve more like snapshots of crazy happenings in individuals' lives than drawn out stories with developed characters, though that is not to say any of them feel lazily-crafted or incomplete. Quite the opposite. Every sentence feels intentional and tight.

Bartlett's vocabulary is grisly and consistent in tone, as if each descriptive word was chosen for the express purpose of making the reader as uncomfortable as possible. What struck me was that as gruesome and disturbing as some of the scenes in this book are, they do not feel like cheap-shots for the biggest gross-out; this is not splatterpunk by any means. The scenarios Bartlett comes up with make one feel as if they are getting a peek behind the curtain of the universe, and what is to be found there is nearly enough to break the mind.

As I mentioned, the stories are loosely connected in a thematic sense. They all exist within the same universe (in fact, the same city), characters and locations will show up in numerous stories, and what is the deal with this Ben Stockton fellow? Read it and you'll know what I mean. Between the stories, Uncle Red read's 'To-Day's News,' describing horrific and impossible happenings around the local area. Intermixed into the stories are bizarre radio broadcasts, always from WXXT, coming to you from Leeds, Massachusetts.

While the whole collection is worth reading (though maybe only one or two in a sitting; wouldn't want to lose your mind, after all), the stories that really got my goat were Pharaoh, When I Was A Boy—A Broadcast, The House in the Woods, The Theories of Uncle Jeb, The Leech, and The Arrival Parts I & II.

If you're a fan of horror in any form, do yourself a favor and buy this already. Walk into the woods. Follow the dark figure. Turn up your radio.

-D.G.

"Live and Let Die" Ian Fleming - Book Review - James Bond Book 2

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Several months back, my grandfather gave me his (almost complete) collection of tattered James Bond Signet paperbacks, printed in the 1970's (with fantastic cover art illustrations, by the way). At the time he mentioned that he had read them all numerous times over the years (and the books show their wear for having been read so many times, but in a good way), and that he thought I might enjoy them as well. I believe the only volume missing is Casino Royale, and I have a hunch this one still exists somewhere in my grandparents' attic. I'll be sure to hunt for it next time I'm there.

Until now, I had not read any of them—they became victims of my ever-growing “meaning-to-read-this” library made up of so many untouched volumes currently on my bookshelf—but recently felt in the mood to dive in. Live and Let Die is one of my favorite Bond films and is chronologically the second book in the series after Casino Royale, so it seemed a logical place to begin.

While the film is set in New Orleans and the book in Harlem, they share a common thread of Voodoo folklore. Like the film, there seems to be an indication that the supernatural elements are real, at least in Bond's universe (though these elements are not so brutishly upfront as in the film). Mr. Big is believed by many to actually be a zombie, and for that reason impossible to kill (not in our modern day Walking Dead way of thinking of the term, but the older, much creepier definition in which a zombie is actually the resurrected spirit of Baron Samedi of voodoo lore). Additionally, Solitaire—the mysterious fortune-telling virgin who 'has no interest in any man' (except Bond, of course)—is written as if her telekinetic powers are real. This surprised me, as I had previously been under the impression that the Bond novels “played it straight,” in the sense that they were written in such a way that remained within the realm of the “real,” not stretching into supernatural or spiritual territory.

I will not take the route of endlessly comparing the many differences between the book and the film (as that has surely been done many times over by Bond enthusiasts finer than I), but I will say that I was struck by just how scarce the book was as far as action or activity, though that is not to say I mean boring. Still, in terms of a book considered to be a Thriller (by the publishers at the time, according to its book jacket), not a lot happens. Front to back, Bond gets his mission from M, investigates, experiences a few exciting altercations with Mr. Big or his henchmen, then comes the big finish where Bond gets the badguy (though not without significant help in this case). Otherwise, Bond spends a decent amount of time waiting around in hotel rooms, bars, or restaurants. There is excessive use of the word “luxuriously,” and specific detail is given to many of the meals Bond consumes. But the easy, leisurely pace was endearing rather than dull.

I enjoyed the relationship between Bond and his American partner for this mission, CIA agent Felix Leiter. Ian Fleming is unblushingly condescending in his writing of American characters, but Felix is an exception to this. Leiter is a charming fellow, if overzealous at times.

Speaking of charming, that is probably the best adjective to describe Bond himself. Throughout the book, he is immensely cool in both mannerism and speech. However, it was also refreshing to see a range of Bond's emotions and a level of his vulnerability. James Bond of Fleming's books (or of this one, as it is my only reference thus far) is not the nearly-invincible figure of many of the earlier films. 007 gets nervous and sweaty in tricky situations; he gets scared; he gets injured significantly; he would have been dead at the end of the book without the timely help of Felix Leiter's crew. All that to say, Fleming's Bond is a talented hero, but he is also just a man, and subject to all the limitations therein.

Fleming's writing style is sharp and intelligent, but easy to read. His pacing is excellent, and the book was exciting and fun from start to finish. Also, I might add, quite scandalous at times without being vulgar. It is amazing how “steamy” a passage can be when none of the words being used are obscene.

I had a great time with this one, and am now keen to dive into the rest of the 007 novels. I would highly recommend it to any reader who already enjoys the Bond film franchise but has not yet taken the time to try the books. Even being published 50+ years ago, this is just as smart and entertaining as any contemporary spy thriller.

-D.G.

"Gone Girl" Gillian Flynn - Book Review

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There is enough hype surrounding this novel that has already come and gone that the world hardly needs yet another voice volunteering comment. Many who skipped over the book have probably seen Fincher's film by this point (BECAUSE THEY JUST LOVED GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO BLAAEEHEHRRG), so Gone Girl might be, to some, very much 'last year's news,' or even, '2012's news.'

That said, I picked up a like-new copy at a thrift store for fifty cents in December—at which time I knew very little about the story other than that it was some sort of mystery and had appeared on zillions of “Best of” lists in 2012—and felt compelled to give it a shot. I stepped into the story blessedly spoiler-free, more by glad happenstance than intention.

Frankly, I can be a bit of an ass when it comes to popular media. Simply put: if something (a book, a movie, an album, a TV show, etc.) gets huge attention and almost universal praise, I tend to stay away from it because: see previous sentence. Something strange clicks on in my brain when I see something heralded over and over, and I (arrogantly) assume that people only love said thing because it must be so watered down that it appeals to the lowest common denominator.

This Gaines fellow is a regular pompous asshole! Why is he telling me this in the middle of a Gone Girl review?

Anyway, all of the useless banter above was to lead to this: I absolutely loved Gone Girl, as much as one can love a story that is horrific in nature. This may sound like an exaggeration, but it's one of the strongest, most tightly-crafted pieces of writing I have read in a long time; a true 10 out of 10, in my opinion (not that ratings mean very much these days, or ever).

Apart from the fact that it has a number of sharp, unexpected turns that leave the reader sitting up in bed and exclaiming, “What the hell?!?” Gone Girl has a balanced measure of literary and crime thriller elements. The first third of the book is an affecting story of a marriage unraveling. Despite revelations later in the book regarding that section (Amy's diary being a sham), the falling apart of Nick and Amy felt authentic and heartbreaking. In the second section, everything changes when we find out not only is Amy alive, but she is not who we thought she was (meaning, she's one sinister bitch). Section three should not work for as zany as the story turns, but it does, and man oh man, does it hit hard.

Coming down to the last ten or fifteen pages of the book, I was racing down the lines on the page because I just had no idea how it would finish, and was so anxious to see if Amy got what she deserved. Nick is no saint, but by the end I was rooting for him, which is what makes the ending such a stinger. I am curious how many other readers across time and space shared my experience of closing this book and saying aloud, “Man, that is f*cked up.”

Gillian Flynn is a fantastic talent and I am glad she has been recognized in such a big way. I've been told by a few reader friends that her earlier works, Dark Places and Sharp Objects, are even more demented than Gone Girl. Sounds right up my alley.

-D.G.

2014: A Review in Books

This post includes affiliate links that support independent bookstores (instead of Amazon!), from which I make a small commission.

This was actually a 'slower' year for me with books, in the sense that in years prior I've knocked out a larger chunk of the unread items filling my bookshelves. Granted, my wife and I had a daughter in April, and while having a child is a tremendous joy, an infant also greatly reduces both one's time to read and their brain capacity to do so.

Something else that made this year different was that I have finally come to a place as a person where I can put down a book that I'm not enjoying. I used to be one of those I MUST FINISH IT EVEN IF I HATE IT sort of people, partly because it drove me internally crazy to leave something unfinished, and partly because some small piece of my mind was holding out that 'maybe the book will get better before the end' (most of them did not). However, at the age of twenty-six, I suppose I have come to the conclusion that life is simply too short to read crappy books, and there are too many other great, amazing, wonderful books out there to spend my time on instead. So, I've started giving a book about fifty pages (sometimes more), and if it just isn't catching me, I'll move on.

A few false starts from this year were Thomas Pynchon's Inherent Vice (what is this book? A crime novel? A comedy? Satire? It's all over the place! Apparently I'm too dense to 'get' it), Clive Barker's The Great and Secret Show (intriguing and had some catching moments, but ultimately got to where it was dragging on and on), and Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, which was excellent but it just wasn't the right time.

And now to the good stuff. Without further adieu, here are the books that hit me just right in 2014 (blue hyperlinks lead to my full reviews of each):

-Allie Brosh's hilarious web-comic-turned-book Hyperbole and a Half. I heard Allie interviewed on NPR, checked out her site, and it was all downhill from there. One of only a few books in my entire life to make me laugh out loud.

-Crimes in Southern Indiana by Frank Bill. I'm a sucker for gritty, backwoods fiction, and that's Frank Bill's specialty. Found out about him by way of Donald Ray Pollock's work. This collection of stories is the literature equivalent of getting the shit kicked out of you on a dusty sideroad by a toothless, Meth-addled maniac. Hoping to get to his follow up novel, Donnybrook, very soon.

-Travels with Charley: In Search of America, Steinbeck's cross-country trek in a custom camper-trailer with his French Poodle, Charley. This was the book I was reading in the period when my daughter was born, so for that reason it will always hold some sentimental value, but it was also a quietly beautiful and very funny book. Steinbeck's observation and wit are sharp, and his writing conveys such a love for the average man and working class America. A perfect warm weather road trip book. There is speculation that much of it is fabricated or exaggerated, but who cares? He's Steinbeck, and his words are gold.

-Jim Henson: A Biography, by Brian Jay Jones. I picked this one up at the library on a whim and it ended up being one of my favorite books this year. It is both an excellent history of Henson and all of the various endeavors he undertook during his short life, as well as a surprisingly inspiring profile of one of the most talented creative thinkers of his generation. His process was fascinating, and the man was truly brilliant; a real innovator. Henson's accomplishments go far past The Muppets.

-20th Century Ghosts, a collection of spooky short stories by Joe Hill. All of these are good, some of them are great, and a few of them are genius. Some of the finest short-form work around.

-One Shot, Lee Child. Not my usual sort of thing, but this was unabashedly fun. Everybody needs a good mindlessly entertaining “beach read” once in a while.

-The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Neil Gaiman. Delightful and imaginative. This reads like a way creepier Narnia story.

-Mr. Mercedes, Stephen King. The man has still got it.

-The Son, Phillipp Meyer. A multi-generational American epic. Hard to articulate just what a massive scope this book undertakes. Masterful storytelling. If you enjoyed the film There Will Be Blood and don't flinch at 700+ pages, this is probably up your alley.

-The Maltese Falcon, Dashiell Hammett. A definitive novel in the hard-boiled crime genre, and a pitch-perfect little story. I kind of couldn’t believe how fun and snappy this was for being nearly 100 years old.

-Vivian Versus the Apocalypse (published as Vivan Apple at the End of the World in the US) and Fear Itself (short story), Katie Coyle. WHERE DID THIS WOMAN COME FROM AND WHAT WILL SHE DO NEXT. So good you'll be mad you didn't write it.

-Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson. Because: Hunter S. Thompson.

-The Informers, Bret Easton Ellis. I'm a fan of Ellis' novels, but for some reason I was surprised by the strength of his shorter pieces. For some reason, I assumed that his style may not translate well to short form, but that wasn't the case. There is a vein of tragedy that runs through these stories. Satire so pointed it's painful. Didn't love all of them, but there are a few gems.

-The Dark Path, David Schickler. Again, not my normal sort of reading. Odd premise: a memoir of a devout Catholic who really wants to be a priest and realizes he can never be a priest. Clever prose and brutal honesty. A man who is deeply in love with God but has thoughts as dark as I do. I can dig that.

-Pet Sematary, Stephen King. Does this require comment? Gut-wrenching. Scarier (presumably) to read being a parent.

-McSweeney's 45: Hitchcock and Bradbury Fistfight in Heaven. A collection of zany, chilling stories republished from old pulp horror and sci-fi magazines, as well as a few new stories by contemporary authors. McSweeney's is hit or miss for me, but this one was spot-on.

Also:

-Wolverton Station (short), Joe Hill

-Wool, Hugh Howey

-Sharp Teeth, Toby Barlow

-The Dead Zone, Stephen King

-By the Silver Waters of Lake Champlain (short), Joe Hill

-Tincture, Book 2, Matthew D. Jordan

-Dystopolis, Christopher J. Fraser

-Just After Sunset: Stories, Stephen King

-Saga, Vol. 3, Brian K. Vaughn & Fiona Staples

-Wraith 1-7 (graphic novel, companion story to the novel NOS4A2), Joe Hill & Gabriel Rodriguez

-Still Foolin' Em, Billy Crystal

-Born Standing Up, Steve Martin (second time I’ve read this one)

-Bright Lights, Big City, Jay McInerney

-The Killing Joke, Alan Moore

Currently reading:

-The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand

-Mystery and Manners: Essays, Flannery O'Connor

-Beautiful You, Chuck Palahniuk

Up next:

-Revival, Stephen King

-Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn

-D.G.

Bright Lights, Big City - Jay McInerney

Jay McInerney has oft been clumped together with authors such as Bret Easton Ellis and Tama Janowitz for their success at a young age and “breaking onto the literary scene” in the mid-eighties. It was Ellis' work in particular that pointed me to Bright Lights, Big City, as that book is sometimes paired next to Less Than Zero for its similarities in style and tone.

Perhaps going into Bright Lights with that comparison in mind was unfair (however unavoidable; it was already planted in my little brain, after all), because while Less Than Zero is a very brash, druggy book with despicable characters, Bright Lights is, at its core, mostly a story of broken love.

The first chapter opens with the unnamed male narrator in a sleazy warehouse-like establishment where people are partying around him while he tries to hook up with less-than-ideal women (by his assessment) and find more drugs. This is a misleading way in which to begin the book because it sets a certain tone of debauchery that does not continue through the rest of the story. Yes, the main character does cocaine occasionally and seems to be an alcoholic and a bit of a bastard in his view of women, but he is not the hell-bent man on a downward spiral in the way that the opening chapter sets him up.

He is not a terribly interesting or relatable character in the first half of the book, and it is his surroundings and circumstances that are more worthy of attention. He does not so much loathe his job—a fact-checker at a prestigious New York magazine—as treat it with a sort of disconnected apathy. In fact, stoicism towards nearly everything in life is about the best way to sum up his personality. The only thing he expresses true passion about is the wife that left him a number of months before the novel begins.

The backstory of the narrator and Amanda, his wife, falls about halfway through the book, and I found this narrative to be the most “human” part of the story. It is here that the narrator does become a sympathetic figure and the reader realizes he has a tenderness to him after all. The story of the couples' romance and falling apart is simple and nothing unique from a literary perspective, but tragic and affecting just the same. From this point on, the narrator's apathy and general disinterest in life becomes somewhat more understandable.

While the novel as a whole felt slightly imbalanced to me, its strength lies in McInerney's ability to craft a lovely sentence, which may sound out of place in a book of this sort. There are many stand-alone pieces of delicate elegance scattered throughout the narrative that give one the sense that the author has a penchant for poetry. It makes for an interesting contrast: this mostly bland central character suddenly making very thoughtful observations.

I try not to go into books with any expectations (especially with authors whom I have never read before), but unfortunately in this case I did, which may have soured my perception of Bright Lights, Big City. I didn't hate it, but I also didn't love it. It was just one of those middle of the road sort of things that was at least worth a read.

Like books about discontent young men meandering about Manhattan with the occasional clever phrase peppered in? Read this. Prefer grittier stuff with lots of drugs, sex, bad behavior, and stark satire on the human condition? Bret Easton Ellis is probably more your style (and mine).

-D.G.