summer reading, part 2: unaccustomed earth, the girl with the dragon tattoo, and march

Unaccustomed Earth, by Jhumpa Lahiri

(333 pages, 2008 - paperback)

Jhumpa Lahiri (The Namesake, Interpreter of Maladies) is a writer of meticulously crafted, melancholic stories of Bengali Indians in America. Many of her characters are second generation Bengalis, so it comes as little surprise that identity, exile, acceptance, culture and family are common themes. In that way, Unaccustomed Earth - a collection of five short stories and one novella told in three parts - doesn't really break new ground. The stories focus on the family lives of first and second generation immigrants living in the East Coast, many of whom - despite their PhDs from Ivy League universities - struggle to understand themselves and those closest to them. They are precise, beautiful, and written with an expert hand; however, very similar to her previous work. If you have not yet read Lahiri (and you should) then Unaccustomed Earth is a wonderful place to begin, but for those already familiar, don't expect anything particularly innovative here. I'm curious what would happen if she'd stretch her wings to write about something other than Bengalis...

My Grade: A-

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, by Stieg Larsson

(590 pages, 2008 - translated copy, paperback)

I adore a good murder mystery, and the late Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - though not perfect - is a pretty good addition to the genre. Investigative journalist Mikael Blomkvist finds himself accused and convicted of libel after pushing a little too hard against a too powerful tycoon. Shamed and stripped of his journalistic powers, he accepts a job investigating the forty-year-old mysterious disappearance of Harriet Vanger, niece of one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in Sweden. Harriet's disappearance is a play on a classic locked-room mystery - she disappeared off a island that, due to a major auto accident on a bridge, was sealed off from the mainland. An intense search ensued, yet no body or clues surfaced, the case went cold, and was Harriet was all but forgotten. That is, of course, until Henrik Vanger hires Blomkvist to look at the case with a new set of eyes. What follows is a nasty little mystery full of twists, turns, and and heaping helping of misogyny.

Larsson originally titled this book "Men Who Hate Women," which is a terrible title for a book, however apt for the story he tells. With the exception of one or two characters, the men in this novel are hateful and violent, and several of them are just plain sadistic. The violence depicted in this book is enough to make many readers squirmy; however, I eat episodes of American Justice for breakfast, so that's not my big complaint. My criticism is that, although the middle of this novel was totally gripping, the beginning was tedious and the ending lazy. That said, trust that I will soonly be reading the hell out of The Girl Who Played with Fire, the second book in this trilogy. Larsson's writing may not be perfect, but he hooked me. He hooked me good.

My Grade: B-

March, by Geraldine Brooks

(280 pages, 2005 - paperback)

I must have been nine or ten-years-old when 'Santa' left me a copy of Little Women under the Christmas tree. It was love at first read, and I can't think of a book I've loved as well or read as often. And I know I'm not alone here, ladies. Little Women is one of the most beloved books in American literature, so writing its sequel is an incredibly risky endeavor. I can think of so many ways that March could have failed, but instead Brooks managed to not only capture Alcott's magic, but add depth and dimension to her classic novel. Perhaps it's because Brooks - rather than focusing on the March children - decided to tell an entirely new version of the story by focusing on the family's patriarch instead.

March is the story of Mr. March, an ardent abolitionist who volunteers himself as a chaplain in the Union army at the "ripe old age" of 43. March's source material offers very little of Mr. March's Civil War experience other than a few upbeat letters written before an illness forced him to prematurely return home. Brooks takes these vague details and uses them to create a masterful piece of historical fiction. Unlike the version in Alcott's original, this Mr. March is flawed, vulnerable and fully fleshed-out. And unlike many Civil War stories, Brooks's characters are a far cry from their Uncle Tom's Cabin-esque stereotypes. I normally shy away from historical fiction, but March breathes life into what can be a dense and stale genre. March won the Pulitzer Prize in 2006, and it absolutely deserved it. I cannot recommend this novel enough.

My Grade: A

summer reading, part 1: the yiddish policemen's union, atonement, and new moon

Seeing how my reading of books has recently far out-paced my reviewing of them, I'm attempting to catch up with three mini reviews today and three more to follow shortly. Mea culpa for my tardiness, and enjoy your weekend, sweetness.

The Yiddish Policemen's Union, by Michael Chabon

(418 pages, 2007 - paperback)

You may remember that I finally read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay last summer and loved it so much that it's now safely on the short list of my all-time favorite books. Eager to read more Chabon this summer, I dusted off my unread copy of The Yiddish Policemen's Union and hoped that it was at least half as good as "Kavalier and Clay." And half as good is about right.

Perhaps the best thing about this book is its premise. The Yiddish Policemen's Union is a noir murder mystery set in an alternate world where Jewish refugees have set up camp in Sitka, a long strip of land along Alaska's panhandle, after the 1948 collapse of the state of Israel. Although the settlement is a massive success, the land is merely on loan from the U.S. government, so when the government suddenly decides to let the lease expire, the Jews of Sitka find themselves turned away from yet another home.

As the novel begins, Reversion is just around the corner and washed-up homicide detective Meyer Landsman has discovered that a murder has taken place in the flea-bitten hotel he's been living in since his divorce. Perhaps because every aspect of Landsman's life has turned disastrous, he becomes obsessed with solving the murder of his neighbor - a former chess prodigy who was once widely thought to be the Messiah. It's a mystery that no one seems to want solved but Landsman, but with little else to live for, it's a mystery that Landsman feels he must solve regardless the cost.

Again, the best thing about The Yiddish Policemen's Union is how imaginative it is, though that's hardly the only thing its got going in its favor. It's also quite funny in parts, a poignant love story, and a nice little mystery. Does it reach the heights Chabon achieved with "Kavalier and Clay"? No. But is it worth your time just the same? Sure. I'd say so.

My Grade: B

Atonement, by Ian McEwan

(351 pages, 2001)

Ian McEwan is one of those authors I've long been embarrassed at having never read, so when I found a hardcover copy of Atonement on sale for $2 at a used book store, I figured his time had finally come. And wow. I've been missing out.

By now I'm sure that most of you have seen the recent film adaptation of McEwan's novel, so I won't bother with too much plot summary. Basically, 13-year-old Briony Tallis, a girl who lives and breathes stories, is confused by something she sees between her sister Cecilia and Robbie Turner, the housekeeper's son. When something much more deviant happens later that evening, Briony points an accusing finger at innocent Robbie and spends the rest of her life trying to atone for her crime.

Since Atonement was such a wonderful film, I almost made the mistake of passing on the source material. How I forgot the golden rule that the book is almost definitely better than the movie, I do not know. McEwan's Atonement is a masterpiece - gorgeously written, a successful experiment of structure and perspective, and a impressively accurate portrayal of the inner workings of a thirteen-year-old girl. Additionally, it's a true testament to the author's storytelling abilities that, having seen the film, I already knew what was coming, and yet I still found the plot absolutely engrossing. Simply put, Atonement is a freaking great book. There's only so many ways I can say it.

My Grade: A

New Moon, by Stephanie Meyer

(563 pages, 2006 - paperback)

Say what you will about me, but I ain't no book snob. I will read almost anything. I guess I'd rather be a part of the conversation than be able to claim some sort of literary purity. Enter New Moon. Now, if you ask my students about New Moon, they'd probably say something like, "Squee! Team Edward! Team Jacob! Like, ZOMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" But they're largely crazy people, so let me lay some truth on you instead.

Twilight is not a very good book for reasons I've already adequately spelled out here. But New Moon? Well, it's even worse. Meyer's writing is just as awful in this second installment, but heroine Bella is even more annoying and (I can't believe I'm saying this, by the way) the whole thing suffers from a long absence of Edward in all of his dreamy, glittering twee glory. Werewolf Jacob tries to replace him, but Edward proves to be - embarrassingly enough - irreplaceable. The Cullens are the Twilight saga, and if you send them out of town for much of the book, then New Moon is the result - boring filler while we wait for Edward to stop pouting and resume saving his bland girlfriend's life every couple of hours.

My Grade: D+

book review: eeeee eee eeee, by tao lin

As best as I could figure, Tao Lin's Eeeee Eee Eeee (the sound dolphins make) is the story of Andrew - a Dominoes Pizza delivery guy who pines for his ex-girlfriend while fantasizing about making a connection with his best friend's sister. Either due to boredom, depression, insanity, or the possibility that he's actually fallen into the proverbial rabbit hole, Andrew coexists with talking animals and aliens who, like Andrew, seem to every bit as bored and depressed as he is. Cameos are also made by Elijah Wood and Sean Penn who both meet violent ends at the hands of murderous dolphins, and the novel climaxes with Andrew, "the president", a dolphin, a bear, a moose, an alien and Salman Rushdie sharing an existential conversation over a vegan meal in a sushi restaurant.

Right. To be honest, I have no idea what to make of this book. If I had to guess, the author is attempting to play around with ideas of truth, sincerity, human connections, and how we can and often do delude ourselves. BUT, it also very well may be about absolutely nothing at all. Eeeee Eee Eeee reads a bit like a Salvador Dali painting, and my reaction to Lin's work is about the same as my reaction to The Persistence of Memory - I sort of enjoyed spending an hour in crazyland, but damn if I can tell you what it all was supposed to mean.

Eeeee Eee Eeee

Tao Lin

2007 (paperback), 211 pages

weekly book review: sharp objects, by gillian flynn

Firstly, it's been a bit since I've posted on what I've been reading, although that is in no way a reflection of my recent reading habits. I've actually read quite a bit this month. I just haven't written about any of it. So, in order to catch up I'm planning on posting shorter, more frequent reviews for the next couple of weeks or so. I'm talking, like, straight to the point reviews. No messing around. 250 words or less. (And if your response to that is, "About time, windbag!" then, well, that's a bit mean, don't you think?)

I'll begin with Gillian Flynn's Sharp Objects, a book which, to put it mildly, disappointed. I normally try to be especially kind to first-time novelists, but this book really pissed me off for some reason. No, scratch that. It pissed me off for several, very sound reasons. To list: I hated how Flynn, a woman, wrote about women - like she had to make them extra gritty, boozy, troubled, violent, and hypersexual in order to prove she can attract male readers. Even for a pulpy murder mystery, the characters risk absurdity in their level of caricature. It's sloppily edited, entirely too heavy-handed in its use of "sharp objects", and the plot twists are both absurdly convenient and glaringly obvious. In fact, I had the murderer pegged by page 37, but read the other 235 pages anyway in the hopes that I was wrong. Unfortunately, I wasn't. The plot really was that clunky and obvious, and yet Stephen King gave it a very favorable blurb. (Because Flynn and King both write for Entertainment Weekly, perhaps? Book politics. Blech.)

I have no doubt that Sharp Objects could make a passable made-for-T.V. movie, but that's hardly a compliment, and although I realize that saying all this makes me sound a bit cruel, I feel obligated to tell you the truth. This book did more than just disappoint me. It insulted my intelligence. I'd like to spare others a similar fate.

Sharp Objects

Gillian Flynn

2006, 272 pages

weekly book review: the story of edgar sawtelle, by david wroblewski

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle is a massive, yet effortless and engaging book that I very nearly didn't read thanks to the hype machine. (Sorry, Oprah. I just don't trust your book club.)

Borrowing a bit from Shakespeare, Stephen King and Kipling, Wroblewski's story is, as the title suggests, the story of a mute boy named Edgar Sawtelle, born to a family of dog breeders. Although Edgar's handicap is a hinderance at several key moments in his life, communication is, ironically, one of Edgar's strengths. He's a wordsmith, develops his own unique system of signs, has an uncanny ability for communicating with animals, and at several moments in his life he even appears able to communicate with the dead.

However, while often a gift, Edgar's disability makes him uniquely vulnerable, and so, like Mowgli from The Jungle Book, he has both a human mother as well as an adoptive animal one - a dog named Almondine who is his constant companion from birth. Similar to Mowgli, Edgar has to abandon human civilization at one point, surviving in the woods alone save for three dog companions while he tries to sort out a plan for dealing with his uncle Claude. Here's where Wroblewski takes a page from Shakespeare. Like Hamlet's uncle Claudius, Claude moves in to take the place of Edgar's father after his sudden, suspicious death. After seeing the ghost of his father, Edgar becomes convinced that his father's death was not an accident and that Claude was the culprit, but with no proof to back up his suspicions, Edgar quickly becomes overwhelmed with feelings of frustration and rage. Sprinkle in some more ghosts, a mysterious wild dog, and a creepy town psychic and you've got a book that, although familiar at times, constantly left me guessing and wanting more.

Unfortunately, I didn't always get what I wanted. While I really admired the first 5oo or so pages, the last 60 frustrated the bejeezus out of me. I feel a little better about the ending after taking some time to reflect on it, and without going into too much detail I guess my biggest problem with the book was this: I didn't really want to read a heartwarming tale of a boy and his dog, but after deciding that that's what it was and that I was enjoying it anyway, I had geared myself up for an ending that satisfied like a heartwarming book should. That is not what I got, and so I suppose I felt a bit cheated.

So make no mistake, The Story of Edgar Sawtelle may be a book about a boy and his dogs, however, it reads more like King Lear than Where the Red Fern Grows. Prepare yourself accordingly and you should do well.

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle

David Wroblewski

2008, 562 pages

weekly book review: twilight, by stephenie meyer

Yes, I did it. I read Twilight. I blame peer pressure.

If you happen to live under a rock (a nice rock, but a rock just the same) and have no idea what Twilight is about, then this is really all you need to know: Girl moves to a town filled with vampires, girl falls in love with vampire, vampire loves her back, girl falls down a lot, vampire glitters in the sun, girl wants to become a vampire, vampire says, "Oh, hell no!," girl pouts. It's essentially a romance novel but with no sex and vampires. And every teenage girl in America is OBSESSED with it.

Now, I could compose a thorough review of this teen phenom, however, I'm pretty well convinced that another review of this bloody book is the absolute LAST thing the world needs. Hence, here's some scattershot (and mostly snarky) thoughts instead:

• Bella Swan (aka "girl") is positively ridiculous. Her name is ridiculous, her overplayed clumsiness is ridiculous, and her complete and utter disregard for her own safety is ridiculous. The very moment she meets Edward (aka "vampire") she's ready to die for him. There's never even a moment of uncertainty, really. She truly doesn't seem to care whether she lives or dies, and the number of times her life is in danger in this book is absurd. She can barely walk out of her house without risking a piano falling on her head. I guess that might be attractive to a predatory vampire, but pleeeeese.
• Stephenie Meyer's writing is close to awful. I could almost see her struggle to use the word "literally" correctly. She sprinkles the beginning of her book with obvious and clunky references to Adam and Eve's apple, but then seems to forget about the allusion after fifty pages or so. She writes primarily in independent clauses, but when she wants to get fancy she'll connect them together with a semicolon. Hence, there are far too many semicolons. After seventy or so pages I managed to ignore the bad writing (perhaps it got better?), but it very nearly made me quit before I got too far.
• Even though it's a vampire book, it makes a certain sort of sense that it was authored by a Mormon. The teens in this book have very little parental supervision, yet there's no sex, no booze, no drugs, no swearing, and no smoking. I don't even think there was any coffee.
• It's a perfect book to read on the treadmill. Big font.
• Sunlight, rather than hurting vampires, turns their skin to GLITTER. Twee!
• Despite all of this, Twilight is addictive. However, it's addictive like MD 20/20 is addictive - it'll do in a pinch, but it will leave you with a fierce headache and wondering why you woke up on the railroad tracks wearing your pants on your head.

In short, do not let anyone tell you this is a good book. It is not. HOWEVER, its appeal is undeniable. I knew it was sort of awful, and yet I COULD NOT PUT THE BLOODY THING DOWN. Glittery vampires in love, yo! Pass the MD 20/20, 'cause I'm thinkin' 'bout getting New Moon hammered!

Twilight
Stephenie Meyer

2005, 498 pages (Paperback)

weekly book review: telex from cuba, by rachel kushner

From 1940 until Castro’s 1959 revolution, Cuba’s economy was almost completely dominated by the United States. Americans controlled the country’s nickel, fruit and sugar industry, and enjoyed a friendly relationship with Fulgencio Batista, its president. American enclaves were established in the most desirable areas of the country, and massive amounts of wealth were amassed by a few on the backs of many. For a slice of time, Cuba was an idyllic second home for many Americans, although this would all soon come to rot with Castro’s successful overthrowing of President Batista, spelling the end of friendly relations between the two countries.

This is the Cuba where Rachel Kushner's mother was raised, her childhood spent in an enclave established by The American Fruit Company where her daughter's novel is set. Telex From Cuba, Kushner’s first novel, is a multi-layered exploration of this unique part of Cuban/American history. Kushner focuses mainly on the American expatriates, however, local prostitutes, revolutionaries, and wealthy local men of industry all make appearances. But although reasonably well-developed, none of Kushner’s characters held my interest. If it taught me anything, Telex From Cuba showed me that bored, wealthy suburbanites are as boring in 1950s Cuba as they are in 2000s America.

As a general rule I try to be kind when reviewing authors’ first novels, but when a literary debut is so well-received that it's short listed for both The National Book Award as well as the Pulitzer Prize for fiction….well, I figure enough praise has already been lavished that it’s safe for me to give my brutally honest opinion. And honestly, I did not like Telex From Cuba. It was well-written, however frightfully boring, especially in the second half when it seemed downright interminable. I didn’t care about any of the characters, the ending was anti-climactic, and although she did pique my interest enough in this period of Cuba’s history to keep me reading, Kushner's plot wasn’t enough to satisfy.

In sum, I found Telex From Cuba to be an ambitious piece of historical fiction, but massively dull. ¡Muy decepcionante!

Telex From Cuba

Rachel Kushner

322 pages, 2008

weekly book review: the shack, by william p. young

Sometimes it's really just too easy to tear a thing apart, so rather than explain why The Shack is a terrible, terrible book (which it is), I am instead attempting to focus on its positive attributes. To list:

1. It was given to me by one of my school's secretaries - a woman who is really quite lovely and who, for whatever reason, thought I might enjoy reading this book as much as she did, and sometimes it's just nice to be thought of nicely.

2. It's about building a personal relationship with God, healing, and forgiveness, which are all very nice things.

3. It is short and easy to read.

4. I suppose there could have been more unnecessary exclamation marks.

5. I didn't see so much as one spelling error in the entire novel.

6. There's a handy dandy table of contents in the front of the book. (You know, in case you want to re-read Chapter Eleven, titled "Here Come Da Judge" but can't be bothered to flip through 200+ pages of big fonted text to find it.)

7. According to her quoted testimonial on the back cover, this book blew "the door wide open" to Wynonna Judd's soul.

8. In it, Jesus calls the institutions of religion, politics and economics the "man-created trinity of terrors," which is awesome in that I can imagine a mass of Evangelical Christian readers' heads collectively exploding at the perceived sacrilege.

9. It was only slightly anti-Semitic.

10. It almost certainly means well.

And that's about the best I can do, folks. In all honesty, The Shack contains some lovely ideas but is far too heavy-handed for me to take any of them seriously. Furthermore, it's horribly written with clunky dialogue, absurd imagery and awkward attempts at humor. Nonetheless, it's attracted a fiercely loyal following (I've heard of some people buying up ten copies at a time to pass out to strangers on airplanes and subways and such), either despite the poor literary elements or rather because not everyone cares about those things as much as I do.

But in all honesty, there's definitely something quite comforting in Young's version of God; however, could I, in good faith, recommend this book to you?

.....No. No I could not.

The Shack

William Paul Young

2007, 248 pages (Paperback)

weekly book review: delicate edible birds, by lauren groff

As you may or may not recall, I had fairly mixed emotions about Lauren Groff's first novel, The Monsters of Templeton. In a nutshell, I could tell that she was capable of writing some beautiful stuff, but several elements of the book grated on my nerves and very nearly ruined the experience for me. So, although Groff wasn't really an author I felt too terribly excited about, I'm a sucker for short stories, birds, and impossibly pretty book covers, so I thought I'd give her another chance to wow me. And you know what? This time, I think she did.

The nine stories in this collection are set in wildly different times and locations, but are linked together by motifs of love, sex, violence, crime and, yes - birds. The dichotomy of men and women features heavily, and the female protagonists - many of whom are victimized by the men in their lives - are also strong, accomplished women. In fact, it's the characters Groff creates that makes this such a strong collection. It's a common criticism that short stories are too narrow a space to truly develop a character, but Groff's women are so well formed she makes it look easy, and the stories she builds around them are engrossing, moving, and written with an elegant hand.

In "Lucky Chow Fun" an idyllic small town is rocked with the discovery that its lone Chinese restaurant is actually a front for a brothel operating with young, enslaved Chinese girls. "L.DeBard and Aliette" is the ill-fated love story of Aliette, a girl recovering from polio, and L. DeBard, a former Olympic swimmer turned personal trainer, who fall in love against the background of a devastating flu epidemic raging through the early 20th Century. "Blythe" is a haunting story of two friends, art, and madness, and in the title story, five reporters traveling through France during WWII unwittingly seek shelter in a Nazi home. And although these four stood out as my favorites among the nine, each of the stories delivered.

Overall, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that this book is more than just a pretty face and that Groff really is a truly talented writer. I may have traded my copy of The Monsters of Templeton away, but Delicate Edible Birds is a keeper. (And not just because it looks gorgeous on my bedside table.)

Delicate Edible Birds and Other Stories

Lauren Groff

2009, 306 pages

weekly book review: american pastoral, by philip roth

"I was a biography in perpetual motion, memory in the marrow of my bones."

Narrated by Nathan Zuckerman, Philip Roth's oft used alter-ego, American Pastoral is the story of Seymour "The Swede" Levov - a man who, on the surface, seems to be a glimmering example of The American Dream. Levov is handsome, athletically gifted, married to a former Miss New Jersey, and lives in a big stone house in the suburbs of Newark, comfortably removed from the crime, decay and racial turmoil consuming his blighted hometown. But when Levov's teenager daughter decides to protest the Vietnam War by setting off a bomb that kills an innocent bystander and sends her into hiding, there so goes "The Swede's" charmed life.

Something nagged at me while I read American Pastoral, a brilliant, Pulitzer Prize-winning story of how the idyllic American Dream turned in the the "American berserk" thanks to the political and social turmoil of the 1960s. It's been a few years, but I recalled feeling something similar while reading Roth's Human Stain - like I knew I was reading something pretty profound, something beautifully written by an incredibly skilled artist. So, why wasn't I enjoying it more?

Then I read Brian Prisco's recent Pajiba review of Roth's The Plot Against America, and it really helped crystallize my thoughts on Roth in general. Please allow me to borrow from Prisco's line of thinking for a moment:

I do not like steak. There are people who revere steak above most other things, people who would pay through the nose for a nice filet mignon or a piece of kobe beef. I am not one of those people. I will eat steak if that's what you make me for dinner, however I won't enjoy it nearly as much as I probably should, and would probably have preferred to have been served something else. For me, Philip Roth is like filet mignon: he's a satisfying, high-end, beautiful meal...for someone else.

When it comes down to it, I suppose I'm a little embarrassed that I didn't like American Pastoral very much. It's a highly lauded work by a highly revered author, so to say that I just didn't like it makes me feel like a bit of a dolt - like the uncultured, backwater hick who shows up to the opera in jeans and then falls asleep during the first act. (Yee haw, ya'll!)

And so though I may not have liked it, American Pastoral is a excellent novel by a gifted writer, so perhaps you should just take my thoughts with a generous grain of salt. After all, this is all coming from the lady who'd rather eat mac and cheese than filet mignon.

American Pastoral

Philip Roth

432 pages, 1998

weekly book review: the hunger games, by suzanne collins

Regarding the sci-fi/fantasy genre, I've recently come to this very simple conclusion: if it takes place in outer space then I probably won't like it, but if it's set in a dystopian future world then I probably will. And although I'm not positive what it means about my fundamental psychology that I'm a tad obsessed with horrific future scenarios, I guess I have a pretty good idea.

Anywho...

I recently finished The Hunger Games, which is the first book in a planned trilogy set in, yes, a dystopian future. The United States is gone, and what is left of North America (now Panem) has been divided up into thirteen districts, ruled over by a dictatorship run from a city simply called The Capitol. Like most dictatorships, life in The Capitol is swanky and well-fed, while the poor saps in the surrounding districts exist in varying levels of starvation, squalor, toil and strife. And it's very unlikely that things will improve anytime soon. District 13 once had the audacity to rebel, and - *poof!* - no more District 13.

In order to ensure that the remaining twelve districts aren't tempted to follow in the footsteps of District 13, the television-obsessed Capitol devised The Hunger Games: a annual lottery in which two children - one male, and one female - are selected each year from all twelve districts and forced to fight it out in "The Arena." The lone winner gets fame and fortune, while the 23 losers get a cruel, televised death. It's a yearly, crushing reminder of how much power The Capitol wields, and is required viewing for all of Panem.

The heroine of The Hunger Games is a incredibly resilient and resourceful young lady named Katniss Everdeen who hails from District 12, or what used to be called Appalachia. The folks in District 12 are desperately poor, and the kids unlucky enough to "win" spots in the Games are rarely competitive. Katniss is, of course, a notable exception. When her little sister had the misfortune of being selected, Katniss did the unimaginable and volunteered herself in her place. Further complicating matters is the second contestant from District 12, Peeta Mellark, who has a very obvious crush on the plucky Katniss despite the fact that the two are about to spar off in a fight to the death.

Personally, I could have done without this side love story, but I also understand that romance is a basic requirement for teen fiction. Another quibble I had is that the ending felt abrupt, but then I had also managed to forget that The Hunger Games is only the first book in a planned trilogy, so a hasty ending is a forgivable offense. Other than that, I really, really enjoyed The Hunger Games, despite one truly disgusting scene, some eye-rolling lovey-dovey moments, and a nagging feeling that I'd read parts of it before (*cough!*TheRunningMan*cough!*). It may not have been perfect, but it hooked me early and hooked me hard; I devoured the thing in two sittings, and am eagerly awaiting the release of Collins' next installment, which I believe is due to be released this September.

In a nutshell, The Hunger Games is gritty, absorbing and inventive, even if not 100% original. Fans of dystopian lit. should approve.

Suzanne Collins

The Hunger Games

2008, 384 pages

weekly book review: the somnambulist, by jonathan barnes

"The many men, so beautiful. And they all dead did lie. And a thousand thousand slimy things lived on, and so did I."

For the most part, the books on my list of resolution reads are heavy, depressing, beastly things, and I found myself needing a break from all of that. Enter: The Somnambulist.

Set in Victorian-era London, The Somnambulist chronicles the (mis)adventures of Edward Moon, a magician past his prime whose true passion is solving crimes, and his sidekick The Somnambulist, a massive, milk-guzzling, hairless mute who is able to endure impaling with neither injury nor pain. Add a bizarre murder, an albino, a menagerie of circus freaks, prostitutes, assassins, poets, a creeeepy Utopian cult, a man for whom time passes backwards, a medium, and various assorted psychopaths and you have The Somnambulist - a novel that is part Frankenstein, part Sherlock Holmes, and one of the strangest, freakiest, funniest, and most overall enjoyable books I've read so far this year.

The narrator, both unnamed and unreliable, begins his tale with a warning: "This book has no literary merit whatsoever. It is a lurid piece of nonsense, convoluted, implausible, peopled by unconvincing characters, written in drearily pedestrian prose, frequently ridiculous and wilfully bizarre." And although Barnes' prose is far from pedestrian, all those other things are pretty much true. This, of course, is what makes it so much fun to read.

Full to overflowing with twist, turns, and red herrings, Barnes' story more than once risks becoming a bit too absurd, yet he somehow manages to pull it all off. Well, mostly pull it off. The only notable exception to this would be the ending, which wasn't quite as satisfying as I'd hoped it would be. Still, I found Barnes' debut to be a clever and wholly pleasant diversion, and its flaws easy enough to forgive.

In short - I liked it. I liked it a lot.

The Somnambulist

Jonathan Barnes

2007 (paperback), 353 pages

book review: lolita, by vladimir nabokov

"My heart was a hysterical unreliable organ."

I must be honest - this one took me quite a little while and left me terribly conflicted.

I've been attempting to read Lolita for years now, and took two serious attempts at it before I ultimately had to make it one of my resolution reads just so I'd finally commit to finishing the little bugger. The strange thing is that I had been sincerely enjoying Nabokov's masterpiece during all of my false starts. Each time I had found it unexpectedly funny, and the pedophilic protagonist surprisingly likable. Yet, each time and always somewhere around page 100, I'd abandon it without any particular reason. I liked it, but I couldn't bring myself to finish it. It was as simple as that.

It wasn't until this third, successful go that I understood what was holding me up: I could only truly enjoy Lolita and its notorious protagonist for as long as Humbert Humbert's lascivious desires remained vague, uncommitted longings in his head. I, perhaps better than most, understand all the arguments in Lolita's defense. Art isn't polite. Art challenges, often offends. And who would argue that Nabokov's novel isn't a work of art? It's hardly my place to presume what Nabokov's purpose was with writing Lolita, but what the novel does is challenge its reader to sympathize with a violent rapist. Quite the little mixed bag, eh?

And despite all his poise and charm, Humbert Humbert is revolting. He's a murderer who abused his first wife, plotted to kill his second, and repeatedly rapes a child. His attempt to rationalize his actions - claiming the existence of "nymphets" and painting little Lo as a flirtatious seductress - is a weak and transparent attempt to dilute the obvious truth of what happened between the two. Whether or not she was a flirt is irrelevant; Lolita was twelve years old when Humbert essentially kidnaps her and keeps her as his sexual plaything until she finally finds both the opportunity and the will to escape. Sure, Humbert is likable and tells his story with a silver tongue, but it's the nature of violent narcissists to be incredibly charming. From the moment Humbert took Lolita to bed, I had lost my ability to sympathize or find humor in his tale, and I found myself wading through the back half of the novel with a tight ball of dread festering in my belly.

And frankly, I'm a little surprised by my reaction to this book. I'm the furthest thing from a prude and I like to think it takes quite a bit to shock me, but I'd also like to think that my affections aren't so easily won, either. Certainly, it's going to take a lot more than a little charisma for me to sympathize with a skeevy pederass.

But, hey - it ain't art if it ain't challenging, right?

Lolita

Vladimir Nabokov

317 pages, 1955

book review: paper towns, by john green

A paper town is a utter fiction - a place that exists only in maps created by mapmakers eager to keep potential thieves from plagiarizing their work. In a sense, Margo Roth Spiegelman is a fiction too. To Quentin Jacobsen, she's a miracle - a sort of manic pixie dream girl who's "the kind of person who either dies tragically at twenty seven like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, or else grows up to win the first-ever Nobel Prize for Awesome." 

Adorably nerdy Quentin (Q) seems to have spent his entire life in love with with myth of Margo, so when she shows up in his bedroom - dressed like a ninja inviting him to join her on a campaign of nocturnal vengeance - he is too flattered to refuse. It's a wild night that leaves play-it-safe Q exhausted, exhilarated, and hopeful that he and Margo can rekindle the friendship they one had as very small children in a time before deeply entrenched social cliques.

Apparently, Margo does not share the same sentiments, because come morning she is gone. Mere weeks away from graduation, Margo has seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth, although no one but Q seems too terribly concerned. She has, however, left a web of clues behind - clues which Q believes she has left because she desperately wants to be found. With little more to go on than a marked-up copy of Leaves of Grass, Q sets off to unravel the mystery of where his dream girl has gone, and in the process learns something perhaps more important: There are no dream girls. There are only girls, and loving the idea of someone is unfair to the actual person whom you've romanticized into fiction.

I heard about Paper Towns while attending a conference on notable new releases in Young Adult Fiction, and was eager to read it after my presenter called it a "masterpiece." Personally, I think that word may have been too freely applied; however, Paper Towns is one of the best books written by one of the best Young Adult authors doing it today. It's a fresh and compelling mystery that is smartly written and, at times, laugh-out-loud funny. Maybe I wouldn't call it a masterpiece, but it is really quite excellent. If you're a person who, like me, maintains a Young Adult library, then consider Paper Towns a must-have addition.

Paper Towns
John Green
2008, 305 pages

monday book review: little brother, by cory doctorow

Little Brother is the highly readable and frighteningly plausible story of Marcus, aka "w1n5t0n," a 17-year-old gamer and hacker living in 2015 San Francisco.  Precocious, wickedly smart and a fierce lover of privacy, Marcus spends much of his time subverting his school's absurdly intrusive surveillance system, a system that treats its students like criminals under the guise of safety.  

Things were certainly annoying for Marcus before terrorists attacked San Francisco's Bay Bridge, but afterward life becomes just plain hell.  Finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, Marcus and his friends are arrested under suspicion of terrorism, falsely imprisoned in a secret location, and made to endure "enhanced interrogation" techniques.  After his eventual release, Marcus finds that his city has become a police state, and its inhabitants treated more like potential terrorists than free citizens.  Many seem willing to endure the new regime, accepting it as a necessary evil in the wake of the attacks, however Marcus knows better.  The Department of Homeland Security is completely out of control, and if no one else is willing to step up and fight then Marcus will take it upon himself to take his city back.

As an avid skimmer of Boing Boing, I felt as if I'd been hearing about Doctorow's newest novel since it was a mere literary fetus. (Doctorow being both the author of Little Brother and the coeditor of the aforementioned blog, which is by far my favorite nerd blog.) However, despite my exposure to the title I'm not exactly in the habit of reading a novel simply because its author keeps insisting on its awesomeness, so I sort of ignored the brief period of incessant Little Brother posts on the site, never feeling a strong compulsion to read Doctorow's 1984-inspired young adult novel.  Fast forward several months and I, while attending a conference on new YA releases, was once again reminded of the book that set the Internet nerd herd on fire.  The presenter just GUSHED over Little Brother, so I finally broke down and started to read it.  

And dear me, but I was hooked by page five.   "Unputdownable" is a word that is greatly overused in the book industry, but even still I can't think of a better - although, admittedly, made-up - word to describe Little Brother.  It's freaking unputdownable.  I tore through it in a day despite it heft - abandoning hygiene, sustenance and sleep until I reached the end.  Sure, there were things that bugged me.  It oversimplified issues of homeland security and the author's politics (although mine own) were beyond transparent, however the story was so darn good that although I noticed these flaws I didn't really care about them.

I recently listed this title as my favorite YA release of '08, but the truth is that it was probably one of my favorite literary releases of '08, period.  Little Brother is smart, cool, gripping, scary, and - dare I say - important.  Really. I can't recommend it enough.

Little Brother

Cory Doctorow

2008, 382 pages