Flicker Reads

What we have here is a wonderful feast of revenge - a story style that I'm always game for. It's enjoyable to read as Stieg Larsson taps into his fantasies of investigative journalism vanquishing all the evils of the world. The plot was Jason Bournish, in that we have a rogue element operating secretly inside the Swedish government, doing everything it can to survive by burying the lives and credibility of those who threaten it. Of course (major plot hole), they don't have a hacker the likes of our dear Lisbeth. I call this a fantasy because the good guys don't just win here - they trounce and demoralize the bad guys in a way that provides the reader enormous satisfaction. Lisbeth Slander, Mikael Blomkvist and their many allies don't just kick the hornet's nest - they run it over with a truck. It's certainly not a perfect book. Stieg Larsson gets into a mess of minor subplots, and the story loses some focus as a result. Nevertheless, I was never for a moment bored. Larsson is responsible for one of this century's most compelling heroines, but he imbues every character with aspects that drew my interest. There is, for example, a recurring theme of casual sexual involvement and its moral bearing within the minds and lives of the characters. I'm not certain if Larsson is asking the reader to examine this issue as a way to counter common sexual attitudes or if he simply was indulging some of his own fantasies - maybe a bit of both. I noticed that Larsson's publisher is releasing the first of what will surely be a long series of additional novels using the characters from his world. This brings up the fascinatingly sticky legal elements at work, in which Larsson's publisher exploits its own abilities in the face of the author's premature death and lack of a will. I don't intend to read either of the two existing memoirs currently out on the author, but hope to someday read a really good Stieg Larsson biography that will take an objective look at this brilliant man and his legacy. 

I must admit going into this with the mistaken belief that The Dying Earth was a novel. In fact, it is a series of fantasy short stories that are loosely tied together through character and setting. As with most works of this type, I found the contents hit and miss. Some of the early stories struck the right balance of plot elements and character necessary to left the work beyond the page and into the reader's imagination; other stories toward the end of the collection overcrowded the plot with twists and devices reminiscent of pulp fantasy magazines of the 40s and 50s. Vance uses a stilted, formal language so often employed by fantasy writers. It works well here, demonstrating that the author has a knack for its use. I liked The Dying Earth, though I think that my reading Ursula Le Guin's Left Hand of Darkness at the same time did this collection no favors. It simply highlighted for me what a literary master Le Guin truly is, and my estimation of her went up as a comparative measure. 

This was a very unsettling reading experience. The story deals with two female protagonists, one the 54-year-old concierge of a Paris apartment house, the other a 12-year-old school girl who lives in one of these apartments with her family. Both women are granted enormous intelligence beyond their stations, and the majority of the book simply involves their whimsical musings. The author attempts something profound and meaningful through her character's observations, but because I disliked both women, I felt like the polite listener at a boozy meeting of a campus philosophy club. Throughout the story, the child contemplates suicide and burning down her apartment as a way to culminate the lack of meaning in her life. And this kid is supposed to be smart? She mocks her French teacher's weight and tosses around the word "retard," while chastising others for their lack of precise language. Anyway, yes, there was something ugly and offensive about this book, and I can't help feel that it reflects on the author's world view. I got the sense that the author may not really love people or feel empathy in a way that allows that bridge into her written world. And because of this, unfortunately, the reader feels nothing, even at the story's supposed dramatic conclusion. I looked up Ms. Barbery's picture, just to see who this person is. On a psychological level, her writing demonstrates an anxious desire for order and control. Why was this book so popular in France? 

If this weren't my July book club selection, I would probably DNF. It's so far nauseating self indulgent BS. I need a pulpy horror yarn next to cleanse my soul of this pseudo-prattle. 

I'm a bit late - ok, a lot late - in arriving at the David Sedaris party. And, yes, of course I loved the book. It was funny, yes, but I loved it, too, for some of the qualities that date it back to the 90s. I know it's strange to hear something from the 90s seems dated, but I think that's the nature of such topical comedy. It's the reason most satire has an expiration date. But there was something very self-involved and innocent about the decade of the 1990s, and we of the post-9/11 world with our ISIS and our school shootings and our global warming - we look back 15 years in a wistful way.

Prince Jalen has his life goals firmly in place: coax as many ladies as possible into bed while remaining out of range of any situation that calls for foolish acts of bravery or heroism. All is well until one day Jalen finds himself fleeing for his life from an opera house (surprisingly, it wasn't the music posing the issue), and attached by magic to a giant Norseman named Snorri. The two find themselves in a story reminiscent of "The Defiant Ones" crossed with a buddy cop movie, told first person from Jalen's spoiled and sardonic point of view. Because of a lack of something in the description or the time necessary to build Jalen's pseudo-European world, the reader cares little for the silly plot, but it acts as a capable vehicle for pushing our two heroes along. I have the sequel and just enough interest to give it a read, but I'll let it alone for a while. 

My first wife and I used to read books together.

We would take turns reading chapters aloud, listening. I think we may even have journalled about them. It was a sort of intimacy I realize now that one only encounters in rare circumstances, the ingredients being difficult to obtain. For one, it was a time when I was young, unhurried, open and optimistic. Today I may have a certain amount of unhurriedness, but those other things have wandered off. Also, the relationship must be supple enough to hold two people in a place like that. Reading in bed on cool, white sheets.
Back in the fall of 2001, she and I were drifting apart. Our move to Montana had been good for us in some ways -- a fresh start --but we left behind a support system that would have been helpful with little money and two small children. I remember the evening we went to Barnes & Noble and picked out The Blind Assassin to read together. I hoped that we could read this novel aloud and rediscover that quiet space and that marital strength that we once shared. I did not realize it then, but I was experiencing a slowly building manic state that would drive us apart permanently, and that this book would remain on my shelf unread for fourteen years. Finishing this powerful story tonight, I wanted to… I don’t know. Acknowledge my sins? I didn’t realize I was ill. She is a good mother and I’m glad we got to spend the time together we did. I will always care for her.

Solid, enjoyable whodunit, much in the style of an Edwardian mystery with keen-witted Matthew Corbett, judicial clerk, as its Sherlock. Set in the late 17th-century Carolina colony, Matthew and his master, Magistrate Woodward, have been summoned to the small village of Fount Royal in order to try Rachel Howarth for the crime of witchcraft. Matthew does his own sleuthing on the side, finding out that Fount Royal is dealing with an insidious villain much more dangerous than its citizens realize. The prose is masterfully paced and full of excellent detail. Author McCammon frames his young protagonist in heroic style, and the reader can't help but root for the boy throughout the story. Everything sets up for a series surrounding his further crime-foiling exploits, and indeed, there are now four other books in the Matthew Corbett set. I'll definitely be checking them out. 

Somehow, we wind up with a courtroom drama cliffhanger here at the end. Rose is so much more bearable in these later novels. One more to go.

Oh man. Oh wow.

After 4 months, my library hold on this hot little item comes good. Starting tonight.

This one has been on the shelf for a while, calling my name. Who doesn't love an American colonial witch trial story?

I love narratives that concentrate on few characters. The main reason is that this naturally allows for greater internal exploration (as did my favorite read of the year so far, The Sheltering Sky). Some books are about events and some books are about people. I tend to favor the latter, like this novel The White Tiger, winner of the 2008 Man Booker Prize.

Here's a book that cleverly uses an epistolary structure, with main character, Indian entrepreneur Balram Halwai, penning a long letter to the visiting Chinese Premier. It's interesting what this little conceit does to the writer/reader relationship, allowing for a natural tendency to explain elements of the story to an audience unfamiliar with Indian culture, without the usual tricks of narration used to bring this about. Additionally, there is something about this idea of being directly addressed through a letter that makes the reader sit up and maintain focus on the story to a greater degree. It's a fantastic idea in this case, especially as the thematic territory of The White Tiger has so much to do with the ways of Indian culture in the 21st century. Balram details his humble beginnings and then (and here's where most of the story centers) lucks into the job of a chauffeur for a wealthy Indian family. In this way, we get to see plenty related to the class differences in India - a dynamic that author Aravind Adiga beautifully elucidates through the observations and realizations of Balram. I began in a state of interest with this book, but as the story deepened, I became absolutely engrossed. Really enjoyed this one!

A lovely trip down 1980s memory lane. All the Atari games I forgot about - Yar's Revenge, for goodness sake!? A wonderful adventure, perfectly narrated by Will Wheaton (who better to narrate this 80s geek fest?). I listened and googled old 80s cultural references all day long. I watched all the old Alan Alda Atari computer commercials.

Someone in our district placed this on the approved reading list, which now that I've read it, is both funny and prone to future parent complaints. Wonderful as it is, it's not really a classroom book. We have trouble enough defending the more meritable Autobiography of a Part Time Indian.

I listened to a fantastic audio version narrated perfectly by Jack Davenport. This is timeless, bold, black comedy that takes sharp aim at its 18th century targets: royal despots, class differences, gender, race, pointless optimism... It's fascinating how current so much of this is. Voltaire and Swift pointed the way for writers like Twain, Heller, Vonnegut.