|
|
|
A Year in Reading: 2011 2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 | 2011 | 2012 The companion piece to my film log, the book log keeps a listing of everything I've read over the course of a year, as well as giving me a place to type up a short review. As a handy reference, the book title of each listing provides links to the Amazon page for the book. Starting in 2009, I began providing star ratings of the books I read. The ratings are out of five stars, with five stars being equivalent to an A, 4½ to an A-/B+, four to a B, and so on. |
| 12-29 | That
Is All, by John Hodgman  |
Over the course of his first two books (The Areas of My Expertise and Even More Information Than You Require), John Hodgman did more than just compile piles of odd, entirely fictional facts and trivia; he created this bizarre, off-kilter world, one filled with hobo wars, mole men, secret world governments, and more. So it's almost appropriate that his final book in the series, That Is All, is about nothing less than the end of that world in a variety of apocalyptic disasters ranging from a Blood Wave to the DOGSTORM to the Omega Pulse and more. In other words, it's every bit of the demented genius that Hodgman has shown in his first two books, only combined with world-ending disasters. The result is pure silliness and anarchy, and it's the kind of book that had me laughing like an idiot on just about every page, much to the amusement of everyone around me. Whether he's talking about the secret history of baseball (or, more properly, "basesball"), the fight between Buzz Aldrin and the Masons, or the secret meaning behind towel animals on a cruise, Hodgman makes his facts oddly convincing and yet side-splittingly funny, all while gradually building toward the end of the world. And when you get there, Hodgman does something even more unexpected: he concludes the book on a thoughtful, even moving note, pulling it all together in some beautiful prose. I loved both of Hodgman's first books, but I can't help but feel that That Is All may be his best work of all. The only downside is that he says it's his last book of this sort, which is a great loss - but the joy of these three more than makes up for the fact that we won't have any more to read. |
| 12-26 | The
Killer Inside Me, by Jim Thompson |
The Killer Inside Me is one of those rare books that I finished, thought about for a while, and immediately picked back up again just to take it all in one more time - and the fact is, a second read only deepened my appreciation for what a phenomenal work of fiction it is. Plotwise, The Killer Inside Me feels like simple pulp noir, in which a small-town law enforcement official gets the chance to make a large amount of money and get revenge on the man who killed his brother, and all it takes is a few dead bodies. Simple enough, right? But that doesn't begin to do justice to the main character, a seemingly kind-hearted, dull-witted lawman named Lou Ford, whose narration opens the window into a character who's not just amoral; he's sociopathic in the purest sense. Ford is a deeply damaged man, and although Thompson only gives us glimpses of what's happened in his past to cause this, the glimpses are more effective than any true backstory could ever be, most notably in the way it creates a truly unsettling character that we find ourselves immersed in. And if the opening chapters of Killer don't make you think Ford is a ticking time bomb, wait and watch how he becomes more and more unglued over the course of the book, revealing a fractured human being whose joy at inflicting pain is far more unspeakable than you might expect. The Killer Inside Me defies the boundaries of pulp noir; instead, it's part psychological study, part thriller, and part realistic horror novel. Understand this: The Killer Inside Me isn't about the story it has to tell; it's about Lou Ford. And trust me when I tell you that Ford's not a character you're easily going to be able to shake when you put this one down. |
| 12-21 | Snuff,
by Terry Pratchett  |
While Terry Pratchett's latest Discworld (and latest Watch novel) isn't quite up there with his absolute best, it's still a great read, and head and shoulders above so much of what is being published these days. Snuff finds Sam Vimes being forced into taking a country vacation to his wife's estate, where his instinctive dislike of nobility leads him into some extremely uncomfortable conversations. This sounds like the setup for a pretty great piece of fish-out-of-water social comedy, and the first quarter of the book definitely delivers that, riffing on men who are kept in their place by their wives, the relationships between nobility and their staff, and even a nicely set-up Jane Austen joke that pays off pretty well by book's end. But that only covers the first quarter of the book; it's around that point that Vimes's Watch instincts lead him to a murdered goblin whose people are demanding justice, and once again Vimes reluctantly finds himself to be the voice of social justice. It's not that this section of the book is bad, in any way - it's filled with Pratchett's usual brilliant writing and moving speeches, and even as the book gets into some dark places, Pratchett remains funny and witty in unexpected ways (I particularly enjoyed his version of a simple chicken farmer). But like a lot of his recent books, Snuff feels a little overstuffed and busy, as though Pratchett has a lot of stories he's wanting to do and not enough time to do them (something I can't help but feel may be influenced by his health). Snuff is a great read, but it never feels focused and often feels as though its scope is too large for its short length; even when I finished, there were things I didn't piece together till I was reading other people's thoughts on it, and that's not a problem I usually have with Pratchett. Did I still enjoy it? Of course - as you'd expect from Pratchett, it's funny, imaginative, complex, and even moving. But it's not as focused as I think it needs to be, and it keeps it from being among the top tier of Pratchett's work. |
| 12-20 | Jonathan
Strange and Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke |
Here's the thing: I didn't even intend to read all of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell again. I opened it up to flip through it, to remind myself of some of what occurred...and then I started reading on the first page. When I looked up, I was about 250 pages into the book and I knew there was no way I could walk away from this enchanting, hypnotic, amazing world. I've read Strange three times now, and every time I'm floored by how deep Clarke's world goes - how well she creates this alternate England where magic exists but is largely forgotten, and how rich and ornate her history for that world is. In the footnotes to her novel, Clarke's tosses out hundreds of ideas that could be novels unto themselves, but instead, they're just part of her rich tapestry depicting the partnership and rivalry between England's only two true magicians. I've described Strange as feeling like Jane Austen wrote the Harry Potter novels, but even that doesn't do justice to the scope of this story, which mixes wry humor, fantastic visions, rich characters, and truly awe-inspiring magic that feels like something truly elemental and stunning. Every time I've read this book, I find myself thrilled by the characters - not just the charming and warm Jonathan Strange, but also lonely, isolated Norrell, the insolent but fascinating Childermass, and even the pathetic Lascelles and Drawlight, who may never be sympathetic, but are still more complex than they first seem. But more than that, there's the massive, sprawling plot, in which Clarke juggles dozens of plot threads, only for the reader to realize that the book is far more tightly woven than they might ever have expected. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell is still one of my all-time favorite books; the world it creates, the characters who live there, the fascinating history - all of it adds up to one of my favorite places to lose myself, and one of the richest, most wondrous books I've ever had the privilege of reading in my life. |
| 12-15 | Lost
Echoes, by Joe R. Lansdale  |
Roger Ebert's cardinal rule of film is a simple one: "It's not what a movie is about that's important; it's how it goes about it." The implication is clear - it's not the story, it's the method of the telling. I bring that up here because if all you focus on is the plot of Lost Echoes, you'd wonder why I enjoyed it so much. After all, the story here is a familiar one - thanks to a childhood injury, a man gains the ability to see flashes of the past, and as he grows older, he learns to face his demons and investigate a horrific series of crimes. Simplicity itself, and there's little here that you haven't seen done before. But you haven't seen it done by Joe Lansdale, and that makes all the difference in the world. With the low-key drawl, sardonic humor, brilliant imagery, and rich characters he brings to all of his writing, Lost Echoes is far more than the sum of its parts, becoming more of a character study of a man who is defined by his curse more than he cares to admit. As the story unfolds, we find ourselves rooting for our heroes not just to see justice done, but because they seem like good, genuinely likeable people, and we want them to succeed, be it in the case or just in their lives in general. Lost Echoes is a lot of fun, and I found myself giggling often not just at Lansdale's colorful turns of phrase (which he has a lot of), but at the sheer level of fun and enjoyment he brings to even the darkest stories. Is Lost Echoes a story you've heard before. Sure. But it's not one you've heard told like this, and that alone makes it very much worth your time to check out. |
| 12-8 | Damned,
by Chuck Palahniuk  |
Chuck Palahniuk writes a story about a teenage girl's time spent in hell. That sounds like something that should be right up Palahniuk's alley, and by and large, Damned is at least funny and enjoyable, even if it never quite becomes anything really memorable or truly engaging. Palahniuk's writing really hasn't changed at all since Fight Club blew onto the scene, so people who are sick of his tics and odd rhythms are advised to steer clear. As for the rest, what Damned has that makes it work better than, say, the uninspired Tell-All or the pointless grotesqueries Snuff, is the fact that it's pretty funny and entertaining, and Palahniuk's humor about a world where everyone can (and probably will, based off of the slew of bizarre rules and guidelines) condemned is a blast. After all, there's something genuinely engaging about a book where Hell's inhabitants are responsible for telemarketing, and the damned are punished by marathon screenings of The English Patient, and as a tour of Palahniuk's uniquely snarky and modern take on Hell, Damned is fun. As for the plot, though, it's better not to expect much, as our narrator changes from a quiet tagalong to a seeker of redemption to a bully with no real reason or rhyme, and Palahniuk's signature twist doesn't inspire anything so much as a somewhat baffled shrug at how meaningless it feels. I enjoyed Damned well enough, but it still lacks the sharp satirical focus of his best works; nonetheless, I'd say it's solid mid-tier Palahniuk, and better than some of the weaker works of recent years. |
| 12-4 | The
Anti- Social Network, by Sadie Hayes |
At first glance, there's little about The Start-Up that should be appealing to me. This pure CW teen drama in a lot of ways - it's the problems of beautiful people as they juggle relationships, drama, and school (even if that school is college). And yet, even as I concede that this should be pretty far outside of my wheelhouse, I can't deny that I was absolutely addicted to the first two parts of this series. As a marketing idea, The Start-Up takes King's serializing of The Green Mile and brings it into the digital age, both literally (selling the story in short, low-price novellas every few weeks) and figuratively (by making it a story about college students in Silicon Valley who are navigating the cutthroat business world and indulging their coding skills). The result shouldn't be as much fun as it is, but it manages somehow. One of the great assets, I think, is Hayes' strong characters; while many first seem to fit into easy archetypes, she toys with audience assumptions well, especially with the one who I assumed would be the series' main antagonist. I read the first two volumes of this back-to-back, which makes it hard to review each one individually; the first nicely immerses you in the world, while teasing the shape of the story to come with the prologue, while the second dives deeper into the characters and their pasts, deepening what we've seen so far. Is there a lot of focus on relationship drama? Oh, yes. Are there lots of impossibly beautiful people meeting each other and instantly falling in love or lust? Of course. But I can't deny that I really enjoyed both of these books, maybe if for no other reason than loving a series where geeks and coders are the heroes, not the sidekicks or comic relief. Or maybe Hayes just tells a fun story. Regardless, I enjoyed this, and the fact that it's so far out of my wheelhouse should tell you something about how much fun it is. |
| 12-4 | The
Start-Up, by Sadie Hayes |
|
| 12-3 | We
Have Always Lived in the Castle, by Shirley Jackson
|
What a strange, subtly unnerving book this is. Trying to describe the plot of We Have Always Lived in the Castle is challenging, partially because not much truly "happens" in the book, but mostly because so much of what makes the book effective and powerful comes from the method of the storytelling. As narrated by a young girl affectionately known as Merricat - whose 18 years don't often come through in her voice - Castle is the tale of the Blackwoods, a rich family who suffered a massive tragedy many years ago. Now, all that remain of the family are Merricat, her older sister Constance, and their Uncle Julian, who has never been the same since...well, that's to be discovered. What matters is that the surviving Blackwoods are figures of unease, hatred, scorn, and even terror in the village near their manor, and although Merricat is outwardly charming and girlish, her dark, even murderous thoughts make you realize that there are some truly unsettling undercurrents to be found in the Blackwood house, even as the family itself is one ruled by love and kindness toward each other. We Have Always Lived in the Castle is a novel about isolation, in some ways (imagine any small town novel with the creepy outcast, only imagine that the book is told from the outcast's perspective), but it's also a strangely unsettling tale, made all the more so because it's difficult to put your finger on what, exactly, makes the book so unnerving. Much as in The Haunting of Hill House, Jackson tells her tale through implications and oblique characters, but the impact here is incredible; for such a seemingly simple tale, Castle has left me thinking and analyzing it in some great depth as I think on it. If all you know of Jackson is The Lottery and Hill House, you have to check this one out; on the other hand, if you just want an unsettling character study and a fascinating immersion into a deeply damaged family, this one should be near the top of your list. |
| 11-30 | Nerve
Damage,by Peter Abrahams |
My relationship with Peter Abrahams is awfully similar to Charlie Brown's feelings about Lucy and that football of hers. I keep finding myself drawn to his books, but almost every time I end up with an unsatisfying, frustrating experience. But the hook for Nerve Damage is so intriguing that I couldn't help myself. (That hook: a widower artist gets a chance to read his pre-crafted obituary, only to find that his wife is listed not as an economist, but as a worker for the United Nations - and when he asks about the contradiction, the obituary author turns up dead. So, I couldn't resist that...and by and large, Abrahams delivers on its promise, crafting an intriguing thriller that explores its main character and makes the unfolding plot as much about his marriage as it is the conspiracy that may or may not have had a part to play in his wife's death. Admittedly, the final chapters wrap up too abruptly and simply, playing out as though they're preordained and not as though anything could happen. But until the last couple of chapters, this is a rich, interesting read, one whose main character manages the rare feat of being just as interesting (if not more so) than the complex story around him. |
| 11-27 | Winter's
Bone, by Daniel Woodrell |
I've been curious to read Winter's Bone ever since seeing the outstanding film that it inspired, but I assumed going in that it would be, at best, a curiosity, and that it wouldn't compare to the film. And apparently, I was very wrong. Winter's Bone is an exquisitely crafted piece of work, one whose prose feels inspired by Cormac McCarthy while still feeling very much like its own unique style, fusing the stark Ozark landscape with beautifully crafted writing that evokes both the desolation and the danger of the landscape. The plot is an intriguing hook to hang the story on - in which a young girl named Ree has to discover what's happened to her father while navigating an Ozark community filled with meth manufacturers and isolated clans - but in the end, Winter's Bone is more about the world these characters inhabit and what it does to all of them. Woodrell fills his book with fascinating creations, most notably Ree's Uncle Teardrop, but this is Ree's book all the way. By making his main character a girl, Woodrell plays with gender roles and expectations beautifully, letting Ree's quest become an even greater offense than it normally would be. Winter's Bone is a tight, hard-edged piece of work, one whose brief length may not prepare you for how impactful and powerful it really is. The characters and the world they inhabit are going to stick with you long after you finish this one, and rightfully so - Woodrell's immersion in their world is flawless, and the end result is an uncommonly powerful neo-noir that takes you to a place few of us ever see. |
| 11-25 | Hell
to Pay, by George Pelecanos |
In his best work, Pelecanos is capable of creating such rich and involving characters that the plot feels less like the creation of a writer and more like the organic growth out of these people and their lives, and Hell to Pay is no exception. The second entry in the Derek Strange and Terry Quinn novels (after the excellent Right as Rain), Hell to Pay follows Strange and Quinn as they investigate cases, coach an inner-city football team, and attempt to find structure and stability in their love lives. Meanwhile, a pair of women attempting to help wayward prostitutes are asking for their help, and a local drug dealer with a grandiose sense of self is beginning to chafe that a young man hasn't paid off his debt yet. All simple plot threads, but Pelecanos invests each with the rich characterization and the detailed sense of place that makes his books so fascinating, and does so in such an elegant way that we barely notice how the plot threads are coming together until we're shocked at the collisions. The plotting is complex and fascinating, but what makes Hell to Pay so wonderful is the way Pelecanos intertwines his characters with the plot, tying their moral and emotional conflicts into the story beautifully. Hell to Pay is just another piece of evidence in my case that Pelecanos is one of the greatest crime writers working today; with his strong characters, his complex moral observations, his keen sense of place, and his ability to weave his characters, plot, and setting together perfectly, he creates something that's far more than the sum of its parts, making something incredible out of it all. |
| 11-23 | Fever
Dream, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
|
I'm starting to wonder if the problem is with Preston and Child, or if it's with me. I absolutely loved Preston and Child's early stuff - books like Relic, Thunderhead, and The Cabinet of Curiosities mixed supernatural horrors, scientific explanations, and adventure stories perfectly. But as time has gone on, the adventure has become more and more the focus, with the science being less involved and interesting, and the books have gone from superb to entertaining but forgettable, and Fever Dream is no exception. Admittedly, the science here is a little more interesting than Cemetery Dance had to offer, but rather than being the key to everything here, it's a MacGuffin that could basically be dropped from the book without leaving much damage behind. It's not that there's that much that's really wrong with Fever Dream - Pendergast is still an interesting character, Preston and Child are still great at pacing out a mystery, and the plotting is still compelling and fun. But at the same time, I find my feelings on these books less positive than the generally good reviews I give them. They're fun, enjoyable books, but I can't help but feel that they're a little more shallow and empty than they used to be, and lack a bit of the otherworldly science that made their first few books so fascinating. |
| 11-20 | The
Five, by Robert McCammon 
|
I've been enjoying Robert McCammon's recent return to writing - the Matthew Corbett novels have been a lot of fun - so it's a bit disappointing to find him stumbling as hard as he does with The Five. Part of the problem is that the book doesn't seem to know what it actually is: is it a drama about a band that's reaching the end of a tenure? A thriller about that same band becoming the target of a deeply damaged Iraq veteran (who's depicted about as generically as possible)? Is it a supernatural thriller in which the forces of good and evil are swarming around these people for reasons unknown? Or is it a profound statement about the nature of life and a love letter to music? Well, it's all of those things, but in trying to do so many, it ends up doing none of them entirely successfully, often changing from one focus to another just as the previous idea is starting to find its footing. McCammon's writing isn't up to par here either; while the man still knows how to craft a phrase, his characters here all speak in overwrought monologues, which ends up trampling all over the idea of "show, don't tell". In the end, The Five is just an overly ambitious, sprawling mess, one that jumps between ideas and characters so often that none of them ever create a strong impression beyond bland archetypes. It's always compelling enough to keep me reading, but never enough to make me excited about it, and that's a pretty big letdown for McCammon. |
| 11-17 | The
Phantom Tollbooth, by Norman Justus
|
I remember reading The Phantom Tollbooth as a child, but not much else about it, so when I was given the chance to revisit the book as an adult, I was pretty excited. What I got wasn't what I remembered - while I remembered the wondrous and imaginative world that Justus created, what I had forgotten is how silly and anarchic the whole book is; if you can imagine Alice in Wonderland as written for logophiles, you'll be on the right track. Absolutely stuffed full of puns, wordplay, clever turns of phrase, and all sorts of clever inventions, The Phantom Tollbooth works completely fine as an adventure story, and it's on that level that my five-year-old absolutely loved it. After all, a young boy who finds himself in a strange land with a faithful dog on a quest for princesses? Pure fun for a small child. But as an adult and a lover of words, The Phantom Tollbooth is crammed so full of wordplay that it's even more fun to read as an adult just so you can see how whimsical and looney the whole book really is. Here's a book with bees that love spelling, people who take your senses (think about it), a Which (who helps people choose which word to say) who's often mistaken for a Witch, and so much more. More than that, the book works well both as an adventure and as an allegory for the search for knowledge; although it's clear that Milo is working to learn more about the world and expand beyond his horizons, watching how Justus underlines all that with his characters and personifications is pretty wonderful. It's really no wonder that The Phantom Tollbooth is still read and loved all these years later; no matter how much time has passed, its love of language, sense of pure imagination (my favorite example might be the sunset conductor), and whimsical story make it a pure delight to read, no matter how old you are or how many of Justus's joke's you're immediately getting. |
| 11-10 | 11/22/63,
by Stephen King
|
When I first heard the concept of Stephen King's new novel, I was skeptical. The idea of someone finding a way to travel back through time and stop the Kennedy assassination seemed like something far more generic and B-movie-esque than I hoped for from King. But, hey, it's King, so of course I'll try it...and I wasn't ten pages in before my doubts started to fade. One of the things I forgot in my expectations is how well King can make even the oddest scenario seem both logical and yet completely fresh, and his handling of the time-travel method here is both, creating something that feels like no other time travel story I've ever heard in my life, yet one that feels...well, natural in a way you might not expect. But more than that, 11/22/63 is a testament to King's storytelling skills: this thing moves like a rocket, and there are scattered climaxes and scenes that pack such impact that I had to take a break afterward. King puts on a clinic with regard to pacing, structuring his story deftly and juggling dozens of characters so well that it looks effortless - only to collide them in ways you're never prepared for. It's those characters, of course, that really carry the book - you'd expect nothing less from King, whose character work is always second to none, but his cast of characters here is something special, something far more touching and complex than I might have expected. Maybe it's because for King, the past isn't a gimmick - it's a vibrant, fully-realized place, one that's as much a character as any of the people that inhabit it. There's so much more here to rave about, and so little space, so let me just say this: for my money, 11/22/63 is probably King's best book since the accident, and even one of his best, period. It's ambitious, profound, intense, unsettling, moving, and powerful, and it's the work of a master at the peak of his craft. |
| 11-8 | Fugue
State, by Brian Evenson
|
I've been a fan of Evenson's work ever since reading the surreal, nightmarish Last Days, and Fugue State is just another reminder why that fandom is justified. Describing Evenson's beautiful and oddly unsettling prose is hard to do - it's like some fusion of Cormac McCarthy and Edgar Allan Poe, with emphasis on Poe's unreliably fractured narration and the psychological turning of the screws he so enjoyed. Fugue State is, in some ways, the "easiest" of Evenson's collections I've read; the stories are generally more straightforward, but even so, reality is hard to come by in Evenson's work, and sanity even harder. The stories here take on everything from a reluctant post-apocalyptic cult leader (the pitch-black religious satire "An Accounting") to a plague of amnesia (the unsettling and surreal "Fugue State"), and whatever the subject, Evenson has a way of provoking responses from the reader you'll never expect. Look, for example, as "Invisible Box," a story about a woman whose one-night stand with a mime leaves her convinced that he's left his invisible box at her house. The story sounds like it should be funny (and, to be fair, parts of it made me laugh out loud), but Evenson manages to take the situation and craft a story of a woman losing her mind out of it, ending on a creepily ambiguous note that sucks all the whimsy from the situation. Others, like "Alfons Kuylers," feel like a Poe story he never wrote, all the way to the chilling slow burn as both the reader and the character start to understand exactly what's going on. With his perfect prose, psychological games, and unsettling imagery, Evenson is a literary horror writer like no other, and it saddens me that so much of his work goes without notice right now. It's unlikely you'll ever read much like Evenson; if you haven't started, jump in now. |
| 10-31 | Second
Son, by Lee Child
|
A short, fun little story about teenage Jack Reacher, Second Son is another testament to what a great idea the Kindle Singles program is. Second Son is a very quick read, but I think that's for the best; a full novel about teenage Reacher would be too much, and would end up with too many people trying to view it as an "origin" story for the man he would become. Instead, we get an entertaining little vignette about Reacher's arrival in a new town, his confrontation with a local bully, and a couple of other little run-ins with bureaucracy and mystery that give us a sense of the man to come. For the most part, Child avoids making teenage Reacher exactly the same as the adult (he talks a lot more, for one thing), but neither does he change the character so much as to be unrecognizable. And while the ending feels a little rushed, especially with regard to the surprisingly brief wrap-up of a plot thread, it's still a nice miniature version of the Reacher stories to come. I'd say this is more for fans than newcomers, but either way, it's a fun read and a nice new take on an iconic character. |
| 10-31 | The
Infernals, by John Connolly
|
In The Gates, John Connolly brought the inhabitants of Hell into a small English town; in The Infernals, he brings some inhabitants of that town into Hell, and the results are even better than the first book. The Infernals is a direct continuation of The Gates (so much so that Connolly even scolds readers who jump into book 2 of a series), revolving around Mrs. Abernathy's efforts to escape the disgrace of the previous book's events. The Infernals is even better than its predecessor in just about every way - in writing, in humor (I was cracking up at numerous passages and asides), in characters (both returning and new, with the latter being most notably personified in the anarchic presence of some drunken, irritable dwarves), and especially in imagination, as Connolly is free to create a menagerie of beasts, demons, tortures, and nightmares that conjure up a Hell like nothing else you've read. None of this sounds like typical children's fare, and yet it is - Connolly toes the line perfectly between kid's creepiness and wonder, and never lets the darkness overwhelm the story too much. More than that, he evokes a wonder and imagination that many adult novels are afraid to plunge into, creating a world that's both compelling and horrific, and walking the line perfectly. So, yes, I'd say it's still great for older kids. And if you're an adult? It's laugh out loud funny, imaginative, well-told, and just a joy. Read it, no matter what age you are. You won't regret it. |
| 10-24 | The
Gates, by John Connolly
|
I read The Gates when it first came out, and remembered loving it; it's wonderful to find that it's even better than I remember it being. To try to describe it is a challenge in of itself - how do you explain to people that this is a book about a young boy who witnesses his neighbors opening the gates of Hell and releasing waves of demons into their small town, and then tell them that it's a book for children? And then you have to let them know that the book is also about quantum physics and the Large Hadron Collider as well...and then you've probably lost them. Which is a shame, because for my money, The Gates is right up there with Neil Gaiman's Coraline in terms of children's books that are imaginative, funny, engaging, entertaining, and just creepy enough to have some edge to them. There's so much here to enjoy, from the hilariously ghoulish way that one demon explains to the police that he's not wearing a costume to the bizarre fate of a nearby pond, from a conversation with a monster under the bed to the unlikely part an Aston Martin plays in the invasion, and Connolly juggles it all while spinning a fascinating story. And as if all that weren't enough, he also manages to make it even emotionally moving, most notably as young Samuel comes to terms with the absence of his father. All in all, The Gates is a wondrous, fantastic read, and I'm eager to jump into The Infernals, Connolly's followup novel, just to see what else Connolly has hiding up his sleeve. |
| 10-22 | The
Return of Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
|
When Doyle decided to bring Sherlock Holmes back from the dead, it wasn't because of artistic reasons or because he had some fresh inspiration; it was because he needed money. That's not really an optimistic setup for The Return of Sherlock Holmes, and it's no surprise that during a few of the stories, it feels like Doyle is just going through the motions. Stories like "The Missing Three-Quarter" feel fairly dull and uninspired, and if the collection was nothing but those, it would be a bit of a chore. Thankfully, Doyle is a professional, and the vast majority of the stories are at the very least richly satisfying, if not surprising, engaging, and very entertaining. A few - for instance, "The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton" - are genuinely surprising in the ways they break with the traditional Holmes formula, while others (I'm thinking here of the "Abbey Grange" story) find Holmes more flexible with regard to crime than we often think he is. Others, like "The Adventure of the Six Napoleons," are just plain fun. All in all, I'd say Return is probably my favorite Holmes story collection to date; while it has a few of the weakest points, it also has many of the best stories I've read so far, and generally feels as though Doyle made the best of the return by having a lot of fun with the characters and the situations, and starting to show some signs of toying with the formula of it all. |
| 10-15 | Stranglehold,
by Jack Ketchum 
|
I legitimately don't know what to say about Stranglehold, a profoundly effective and yet emotionally draining novel by Jack Ketchum. At its core, Stranglehold is the story of two people - one, a young girl who grows up in an abusive household; the other, a young man whose damage and violent tendencies mark him as someone to be watched - and how they eventually meet, fall in love, and then deal with the revelations about the true nature of the other person. Despite being categorized as "horror," Stranglehold is probably somewhere between a drama and a thriller, as the husband becomes more and more abusive and the wife attempts to save both herself and her son, only to find that the law isn't always on the side of the righteous. I can't deny that Stranglehold affected me; Ketchum writes complex, interesting characters, and the ideas he puts into play here - the flaws in the justice system, the impact parents can have on their children, the dangers of unchecked abuse - are compelling ones, and they're made all the more involving by the fact that Ketchum writes without pulling any punches from the horrors his book contains. But those same horrors make Stranglehold a bleak, rough read, one that I often couldn't read for too long simply because of how grim it all was - and that's saying a lot, given my usual reading proclivities. By the book's end, I found myself in a hopeless, haunted mood, and found myself needing something happier - time with my children, or even just some sunshine - as an antidote to the bleak, hopeless, devastating world that Ketchum creates here. Is Stranglehold a powerful, even effective drama/thriller? Undoubtedly. But it also drained me in a way few books have, and its unflinching look at domestic violence, cruelty, and horrific child abuse made it a book that got to be unpleasant to read, and one that I was fairly glad to be done with by the time it's done. A normal rating is hard to come up with for this one; all I can say is that it's a well-written, well-crafted piece of work, but not one I think I could ever make myself read again, nor one that I could see myself recommending to anyone very easily. |
| 10-11 | The
Dark at the End, by F. Paul Wilson
|
Ever since the release of Bloodlines, Wilson has warned that the final books in the Repairman Jack series were essentially a "river novel," where the story flowed from one book to the next. The Dark at the End bears him out, wrapping up the previous four novels - Bloodlines, By the Sword, Ground Zero, and Fatal Error - in such a way that it feels like the logical conclusion to one very long five part saga. Any true Jack fan knows the state of things as The Dark at the End begins: Glaeken is exposed, Jack is on the hunt for Rasalom, and one very unusual child has a role to play that no one can quite understand just yet. And, of course, this is the final book of the series, meaning that we have to set the stage for Nightworld. Wilson manages to do all of that and then some, providing a satisfying conclusion to every plot thread that's been going since Bloodlines and still managing to make the book a thrilling, exciting experience on its own, most notably in a series of sequences that occur in a largely deserted neighborhood. It all builds to the finale, which is as inevitable as it is shocking, and it's a joy to see how tightly Wilson has been plotting everything for the past several books. It's not a happy ending to the series - how could it be, with Nightworld still to come? And yet, it's a generally satisfying end to the Jack saga (even though the revised Nightworld will be the real conclusion), as he's learned exactly who he is, what he's capable of, and become the weapon he's been capable of being since the beginning. I was a little saddened to turn the final pages here - I've been reading the Jack books for years, and although there are a couple of other Jack projects to come, including some prequel novels, it won't be like opening a new chapter of this section of Jack's life. But in tying together the last five books with such a satisfying, tightly constructed, and often shocking final book, Wilson has done himself proud. I have a lot more to say, but I don't want to ruin the book for anyone, so let me just close with this: if you're worried if Wilson could end the series in a strong fashion, worry no more. Just be sad that it's come to an end. |
| 10-10 | Fatal
Error, by F. Paul Wilson
|
Much like Ground Zero, Fatal Error is setting up for the events that are yet to come; unlike Ground Zero, though, Fatal Error is far more kinetic and thrilling, beginning to end. Wilson does an excellent job integrating his short story "The Wringer" here (you can read it in Quick Fixes); given that the story is one of the most harrowing Jack adventures anyway, it gives Fatal Error a far more intense and horrifying opening sequence to move through, as a young Arab man finds himself the target of a mysterious (and vicious) tormentor. From there, Fatal Error becomes exponentially more complicated, as the Lady struggles to stay alive, Glaeken finds himself involved in the events of Reprisal, and the Septimus Order works on a plan that may push humanity ever closer to the events of Nightworld. Fatal Error absolutely moves, giving Jack the chance to show off his skills, but also reminding us just how dangerous Jack can be when he indulges his darker side - something that comes into horrific focus during a late-book sequence in an airport. As is the case with the last several books, Fatal Error isn't for newcomers to the series; this is Wilson taking down all of the dominoes he's been setting up for years, and he simply doesn't have the time to tell new readers everything they need to know. And, much like the recent books, Fatal Error doesn't have a solid ending; the book draws to a concluding point, but only in as much as the major plot threads of the book draw to a close; there's a real sense that the true finale will come in the final Repairman Jack book. Even so, for fans of the series, Fatal Error is a great read; there's a real sense of the threat to come, some intense action, and Jack at his surviving best. The only down side is that there's only one more book to come... |
| 10-8 | Ground
Zero, by F. Paul Wilson
|
There's no doubt that, as a few people have pointed out, Ground Zero is a largely a transition book, as Jack, his family, the Dormentalists, the Kickers, Rasalom, and a few returning faces all are put into play and rearranged on the board as the endgame draws closer and closer. And there's also no doubt that, as I complained when I first read Ground Zero, the book caused me to miss the "fixes" Jack made his name doing, and that the book's a lot less fun than the rest of the series around it, as Jack mainly reacts to things around him rather than acting. And yet, even with all that said, I rocketed through this book, even on a reread and knowing what was going to happen. There's some great touches here, especially as Wilson connects the events of his books with the world around us in a way that bothered me a lot less than it did the first time; on my first readthrough, I wasn't really sold on his use of 9/11 as a pivotal plot point, but as I read it again, I feel like he's doing a lot more with it than I first realized, and he's doing it more respectfully than I might have first felt. More than that, we get a lot more pieces of the puzzle here, as we finally find out the identity of the Lady (and her dog), understand the purpose of the Opus Omega, and start to make some connections about just how far Rasalom's plan is reaching. If you've never read any of the series, chances are, none of this makes any sense to you, and that's about right; Ground Zero is most assuredly not for newcomers to the series, nor does it make any effort to be. But for those of us who've been reading the Jack books for years, Ground Zero may be setting up the events to come, but it still does so in an interesting and engaging way, all the way to the fairly shocking climax of the novel |
| 10-8 | Edge,
by Jeffery Deaver 
|
Edge is a standalone novel from Deaver (that is, it doesn't feature either of his recurring main characters, Lincoln Rhyme and Kathryn Dance), and often, those lead to some of his best works. But for whatever reason, Edge didn't do much for me. The premise is certainly appealing enough, as Deaver focuses on Corte, an expert in witness protection who's doing everything he can to prevent his targets from being captured by one of the best and most dangerous interrogators working today. And as a cat and mouse game, Edge is satisfying enough for a while. But after a bit, the villain's ability to manipulate every single person he meets gets a little wearying, and the continual power reversals that Deaver uses as little twists start to get more predictable than surprising. But the biggest gripe for me has to do with the family that Corte is protecting; without giving too much away, Deaver seems to be overstuffing this family with secrets, to the point where you start to wonder how so many people in one small group can have so many dangerous secrets tucked away. And, finally, there's Corte, whose cold, dispassionate exterior hides a similarly cold, dispassionate interior that makes him less of an intriguing character and more of a dull, uninvolving slab. Edge is an adequate thriller, I suppose, but there's nothing really that makes it great, and more than a few things that make it disappointing. As a beach read, you could do worse, but to be blunt, you could do a lot better, too. |
| 10-3 | John
Dies at the End, by David Wong
|
Famously, John Dies at the End began life as a series of stories on a website, and after becoming an Internet phenomenon, the book found new life as a collected, single novel. There's no denying that there's still a piecemeal, somewhat disjointed feel to the book...but you know what? There's also no denying that it's laugh-out-loud funny, effectively creepy, wildly inventive, and just generally a joy to read on every page. I've read quite a few places where this is described as "if Douglas Adams wrote an H.P. Lovecraft story," and that's a pretty good summary of it all, but even that doesn't do justice to the levels of insanity and inventiveness on display here, from floating undead dogs to evil creatures made of meat, from the unlikely story of a bullet that misfires to a genuinely creepy evil god that stares at the world through a massive blue eye. Nor does it really do justice to the writing throughout the story, which takes a page from Adams' clever analogies and dialogues and gives it a healthy dose of juvenile humor that really holds the whole thing together. Very often, Internet phenomena are judged a success if they simply provide a good sense of fun, and that's enough. But John Dies at the End goes beyond that point, combining a wonderfully vivid imagination, a twisted (but hilarious) sense of humor, and a fantastic sense of unease and creepiness, creating something that's really a must read for any horror fan who likes his stuff with a nice sense of fun and insanity. |
| 9-26 | The
Hound of the Baskervilles, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle |
The second collection of Sherlock Holmes short stories, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes is still engaging and fun in a variety of ways...but at the same time, I couldn't help but feel that Doyle was starting to run up against the walls and boundaries he's established for his character. That's not to sell the stories short; there are a number of great reads here, including "The Yellow Face" (in which Holmes does the unthinkable - he makes a mistake!), the "Gloria Scott" (where we get some backstory on how Holmes became the man he is today), "The Greek Interpreter" (which introduces Holmes's brother Mycroft), and, of course, "The Final Problem," where Holmes introduces Professor Moriarty and gives the reader a most unexpected and surprising ending...and then left them hanging for a long, long time, giving the impression that he might have walked away from his famous creation. And yet, then along comes The House of the Baskervilles, easily the best Holmes story I've read to date. Whatever the reason Doyle took a long break from Holmes, the break did him good, as he comes back with a fascinatingly complex story, a gloriously unsettling and eerie mood, and a dabbling hint of the supernatural that keeps you wondering where on earth Doyle is going. The story here is a fantastic one, too, involving a family curse, an escaped convict, a series of mysterious pursuers, and a ghostly hound who may just be from the depths of Hell itself. Adding to the joy of it all is the way Doyle plays with his formula, separating Holmes and Watson for long periods and allowing the latter to stretch his detective skills on his own, which is a blast to see. I liked Memoirs well enough, but I was wondering if the Holmes series was starting to die out on me. But The Hound of the Baskervilles has me hooked again; for that matter, it's easily the best of the Holmes stories to date, and I hope Doyle can keep up this new invigoration as he jumps back into the character. |
| 9-22 | The
Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
|
|
| 9-19 | I
Am Not a Serial Killer, by Dan Wells
|
If I tell you that I Am Not a Serial Killer feels like Dexter (of Jeff Lindsay's decreasingly effective book and TV series) was a teenager...well, you'd laugh. And rightfully so, perhaps - after all, the idea of a teenage serial killer sounds like it should be ridiculous, and when you add into it the fact that Dan Wells enjoys toying with genre lines in a way that will displease people expecting a straight thriller, you have a book that should be destined for failure. And yet, I absolutely loved this book, and I'd be lying if I wasn't looking up the other books in the series as soon as I finished this one. Wells' biggest achievement here is his narrator and protagonist, John Wayne Cleaver, a young man who is convinced that he is going to become a serial killer, a fact which he may well be right about. Cleaver has almost no empathy for other people, he's fascinated by the dead and by fire, he displays many of the warning signs of serial killers...and yet, he's aware of all this and desperate to avoid it. And so, he's set up rules to keep himself "normal" and fitting in...but when a real serial killer starts terrorizing his small town, John starts to find those rules hard to keep going. Cleaver is a brilliant creation, one that feels like Wells looked at Dexter and said "I can make that more intriguing, more complex, and more interesting," and succeeded in every way. Cleaver is engaging, sympathetic, and compelling, and his relationships with his peers, family, and acquaintances make for something wholly unique and oddly painful to read. Then, of course, there's the story itself, which starts as a straight thriller and becomes something more akin to pure horror as it develops. For many people, that's a deal breaker; for me, that willingness to defy conventions is half of what made the book such a blast. I'm eager to read the other two books in the Cleaver series to see if Wells can keep it going; as it is, this is a wonderfully assured and confident debut, one that makes me excited to see what else this author can come up with. |
| 9-11 | Mucho
Mojo, by Joe R. Lansdale
|
I really enjoyed Savage Season, the first book in the Hap and Leonard series, but Mucho Mojo is definitely a step up in pretty much every imaginable way, and makes me even more eager to keep reading the series. While Savage Season unfolded in a standard neo-noir "heist gone wrong" sort of way, Mucho Mojo is a whole different ballgame, beginning with Leonard inheriting the house of his estranged uncle and proceeding in some fairly surprising ways to be a crime story about a heretofore unknown child killer lurking in his small town. Much like Dennis Lehane's Darkness, Take My Hand and Gone, Baby, Gone, Mucho Mojo is as much an examination of evil as it is a thriller, and like those books, Lansdale is smart enough and trusts his audience enough to leave the morality gray and the questions complex and unanswerable. Of course, if that was all Mucho Mojo did, it would be pretty great, but when you add in fantastic thriller elements and Lansdale's laconic, sarcastic, funny, surprisingly poetic writing, you really have a great read on just about every level. My only real complaint is that the big reveal near the end is a little obvious ahead of time, but that's okay; the book doesn't rely on that reveal to work, and much like he did in Savage Season, Lansdale's willingness to explore the book's aftermath and emotional effects really brings it to a great close. All in all, Savage Season may have opened up a great world, but Mucho Mojo really takes it to the next level, making the series into something more complex and compelling, all while never losing the qualities that make Lansdale such an interesting author. |
| 9-7 | Mile
81, by Stephen King (Kindle Single)
|
Even if the Kindle didn't do anything else during its run, the establishment of the Kindle Singles program - short, low-priced pieces by a variety of authors - and the benefit it's had in reinvigorating the short story form have been more than enough to justify its existence. And a new short horror piece (about 80 pages) from Stephen King, whose short work is reliably great? Even better. Mile 81 is a simple enough tale, revolving around several people and families who find their paths converging at an abandoned rest area at the titular mile marker. As he always does, King invests his tale with prosaic details, sharply drawn characters (even with the short length of the tale, King creates characters that are richer and more compelling than many novelists can in five times the pages), and an eerie sense of wrongness that can make even a sunny day next to the interstate weirdly unsettling. The resolution of it all is a little flat and perfunctory, but it's not a deal-breaker; the story as a whole is so enjoyable that a weak ending can't hurt it too much. If you're a King fan, you can't go wrong with this; if you're a newcomer, this is a great way to get introduced to King's strengths as a writer and his remarkable ability to create fear in the unlikeliest of place. |
| 9-5 | The
Fifth Witness, by Michael Connelly |
Connelly's newest is the next entry in the Mickey Haller series, but more than that, it's a thriller that's very much a reflection of its time and place. The story of a woman charged with the murder of the man responsible for foreclosing on her house, The Fifth Witness is a book that's inexorably tied to the current economic climate, with Haller's legal practice overflowing with bankruptcies and public opinion of bankers and corporate repo men at an all-time low. It's this contemporary feel that always sets Connelly's work apart for me, and The Fifth Witness is no exception, making social observations as solidly as it creates a taut legal thriller. And make no mistake, The Fifth Witness is definitely a great courthouse tale, with Connelly's knowledge and experience giving the tale a lived-in feel of a real story, not some fictional dramatization. More than that, Connelly isn't afraid to confront the ethical and moral questions that arise from the case as it twists and turns, and his willingness to let his characters evolve and change is a testament to the series' continued popularity and quality. It's a gripping read on just about every level, one that moves like a rocket and yet has enough flavor, depth, and shades of gray to satisfy just about any reader, whether you're new to Connelly or a seasoned pro. |
| 9-4 | The
Burning Soul, by John Connolly |
Not long after The Burning Soul begins, we meet a man now named Randall Haight, a man who under another name as a teenager once killed a girl, and who now has become a grown man trying to escape the shadow of his past deeds. In many ways, The Burning Soul is as much Haight's story as it is Charlie Parker's, and there's no denying that Haight's complex personal identity, one fractured over time by legal authorities, guilt, and a desire to remake himself lead to a heartbreaking character born as much of damage as evil. The Burning Soul is more "grounded" than a lot of the rest of the Parker books, becoming almost more of a straight crime novel than one that sinks into the "honeycomb world" of spirits and shades that so many of Parker's books inhabit. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing; Connolly tells a great story, and the plot machinations here - which begin with a missing girl, but soon come to involve a fallen mob boss, a lot of power plays, and the complicated past of Randall Haight - are rewarding and filled with all sorts of bluffs, swerves, and rewarding reveals. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I missed the truly chilling and unsettling darkness and evil that Connolly so often brings into Parker's world, but his complex moral world - one in which a child killer may be surprisingly sympathetic, while an FBI agent may be willing to do monstrous things - is a compelling one, and his writing is as poetic and gorgeous as it ever is. And that's not to say that Connolly entirely eschews his shadows here; as always with Parker, the past is uncomfortably close, and there's always a sense of something more than we ever see to his novels. I may not think The Burning Soul is up there with The Killing Kind or The Black Angel, but it's still a Charlie Parker novel as written by one of the most talented, beautifully writing craftsmen in the thriller genre today, and that makes it definitely worth the time to seek out and find. |
| 9-1 | Savage
Season, by Joe R. Lansdale |
The story of two old friends who find themselves caught up in a scheme to retrieve some stolen cash, there's a lot about Savage Season that feels a little familiar. There's double-crosses, a femme fatale, a lot of moral ambiguity...you know, all the staples of a modern neo-noir. Of course, there's also a psychopathic villain whose violence is brutal and shocking, a complicated personal backstory of relationships, a slew of disillusioned 60s revolutionaries, a gay African-American Vietnam vet, and his best friend, a former hippie who went to jail rather than serve in the war. In short, while the rhythms of Savage Season may be familiar, the melody and the flavor of the whole thing feels fresh, surprising, and really sets the book apart from so many other neo-noirs. That's not a surprise, really - if there's one thing Lansdale is great at, it's investing his books with a profane Texas drawl all their own, and the atmosphere really shines here and makes Savage Season a ton of fun. I'm curious to see where the series goes from here - by all accounts, the series only gets better from here, and I definitely enjoyed these characters enough to see what's next for them. |
| 8-25 | The
Magician King, by Lev Grossman |
There's a ton to gush about with regard to The Magician King, from the rich characterization to the quick sense of humor, but if there's one thing to open with, it's the fact that it's a complete joy to find a sequel that's not interested in just rehashing its predecessor, but instead builds on and expands the world already created in the first book of the series. While The Magicians focused on the characters coming of age and embracing the challenges of adulthood, The Magician King finds them down the road, having embraced life but wondering if this is all there is. And when it turns out there may be more to life than just being the royalty of a mythical land ruled by magic, The Magician King turns into a modern adaptation of children's quest novels like The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, as our characters sail from island to island on a quest whose stakes become clearer and more serious as the book develops. Grossman alternates between chapters about the quest and telling the story of Julia, a minor character from the first novel whose backstory and personal development becomes far more critical here, not only as a counterpoint to the privileged lives of Quentin and friends but also as the gateway to the book's themes, which turn out to be far more grim and bleak than you might expect. If I have a small grumble about The Magician King, it's that the book's themes don't really flow throughout the book the way they did in The Magicians, which makes the (admittedly powerhouse and stunning) ending feel a little more out of nowhere. But that's a small gripe, especially when weighed against the fact that the book's pacing, plotting, and storytelling may outdo the original in a lot of weighs. If you loved The Magicians, there's no way you can skip this one; in continuing the story and the lives of the characters, Grossman has created, for lack of a better phrase, a young adult novel that's definitely for an adult audience, and has done so with humor, excitement, and honest, heartfelt, powerful emotional impact and consequences far beyond the tepid "lessons" of so many books of its ilk. |
| 8-15 | Vortex,
by Robert Charles Wilson
|
In which Robert Charles Wilson concludes the Spin saga by giving both a lot more closure than I expected and a lot less, and somehow making the ending far more satisfying than I feared it might be. Vortex unfolds in two parallel plot threads, one a story of a strange young man set in the post-Spin Earth, and the other some 10,000 years further down the road, as two characters from Axis make a surprise re-entry to our universe. For much of the book, the reason for the interweaving of these plot threads remains unclear, and one wonders what exactly Wilson has up his sleeve. There's a lot here to appreciate even early on, though; the post-Spin world is an interesting one, but it's the distant future that's truly compelling, as the reality of the Spin and the Hypotheticals continues to influence human life, belief, and even our very interaction with other people. It allows Wilson to do what he does best, and explore the social changes wrought by his science-fiction, and it makes for a compelling, fascinating vision of a dystopian future. Even so, as I was reading, I wondered if this was truly going to be a final volume in the series, or would it just be another tale of life after the Spin. Was this a trilogy, or a collection of stories? And then, as the book comes to a close, Wilson shifts to an unexpected narrator, and creates a view of the universe, the Hypotheticals, the Spin, and time itself that's profound, moving, overwhelming, powerful, and genuinely stunning, pulling all of the disparate threads and ideas of the three books into one powerful sequence. It's a stunning finale to the series, one that both brings closure to all the ideas the series has toyed with and yet also creates a strong human connection to it all, bringing the emotional scale from the cosmic to the personal in a perfectly constructed ending. I can't say how Vortex would stand on its own; it relies heavily on the world created in Spin and the characters we met in Axis, and it's definitely intended to be the final volume of the series, not a standalone work. But as a concluding volume, it's every bit as effective as you would hope from Wilson, and then some. Wilson often struggles with endings, but his work here combines the mindbending final act of 2001 with something far more personal and moving, and the result is a great ending to a series that should be viewed among the highest achievements in science-fiction. |
| 8-11 | Axis,
by Robert Charles Wilson
|
When I first read Axis a couple of years ago, I commented that it suffered from the typical problems of a middle book in a trilogy: that struggle to continue the story of the first book while not quite getting to a true ending, and working to set up the final volume sometimes at the expense of its own story. And while I stand by those comments, I have to admit that I found Axis more engaging on a second read, maybe because I was aware of those problems as I went in. By setting the action on the mysterious third planet revealed near the end of Spin, Wilson is free to explore a new world and its strange, alien life, and as gets to demonstrate his creativity and inventiveness in a whole new dimension than the mind-bending science of Spin. Moreover, the novel's dual plotlines move like rockets, making their eventual collision all the more effective. The relationship between Lise and Turk is an involving one, and her story for the truth of her father allows Wilson to explore the political ramifications of the Spin and the Fourth treatment, an area that always brings out his best talents. As for the second story, involving a young man named Isaac and the strange circumstances of his birth, to say too much here would involve giving away the plot; let's just say that this plot is far more complex and philosophical than you might think, and Wilson, as always, allows his characters to debate the morality of their actions in intelligent, profound ways. The biggest disappointment of Axis is that it feels like it doesn't really tell us much more about the Hypotheticals than we already knew, instead setting up revelations for the book to come, and that's a pretty big letdown. But the book around it really is a solid one, and if it suffers from middle book syndrome, well, that's fair enough for a middle book to suffer from. |
| 8-7 | Spin,
by Robert Charles Wilson
|
Spin was the first novel I ever read by Robert Charles Wilson, and its depth, power, and intelligence were enough to make me a fan from then on out. Having read so much more of his work, I wondered if Spin would still seem as revelatory and effective as it did on my first read. I needn't have worried. The premise of Spin is a gripping one: one night, the Earth is shrouded in a mysterious membrane that slows down time for the inhabitants of Earth, so much so that even a day on Earth means thousands of years outside of it. Wilson handles the event beautifully, letting the revelations and implications unfold gradually, but what truly makes Spin such a magnificent read is how well Wilson handles the ramifications of the Spin. I once had a high school teacher that said to truly understand a time period, you had to look at five aspects: the political, the economic, the social, the cultural, and the religious. Wilson handles all of these, creating a rich portrait of a world reeling not only from the Spin but also from the corollary: we are not alone in the universe. But what does that mean? Even as Wilson shows us a fascinating arc for our main characters, he also paints a picture of a human race struggling to make sense of these changes to its world. Spin is a remarkable, amazing achievement: a science-fiction novel that not only deals in hard, thought-provoking science, but also in an examination of humanity itself. It's an incredible work, and the questions and thoughts it raises are hard to shake. But that's all the more to the book's credit, isn't it? |
| 8-3 | The
Best of Joe R. Lansdale, by Joe R. Lansdale
|
Trying to describe the short stories of Joe Lansdale is awfully tough to do. Imagine the low-key but well-crafted characters of Stephen King, the gore and splattery sensibility of Sam Raimi, and add in a Texas redneck twang, and you might get some sense of what you're in for, but even that doesn't convey the sharp writing, the suprisingly strong emotional cores, or the pitch-black comedy that underlies some of the horrors that await you in these pages. Here's a collection with stories about Godzilla in a 12-step program to quit demolishing cities, an elderly Elvis teaming up with a black JFK in a nursing home to fight mummies, a detective story about a poodle trainer who might be killing people, a man struggling to find a wild mule and its best friend (a pig), and a bizarre post-apocalyptic zombie tale about a Christian-themed amusement park and an unusual interpretation of the Bible. And that doesn't even get into some of the best stories in the collection. There's so much here you could talk about: from Lansdale's unusual but pitch-perfect analogies and comparisons to his nasty but effective sense of humor, from his amazing use of lowbrow characters and dialogue to sketch a story (my favorite dose may be the bathroom graffiti of "Bubba Ho-Tep") to his ability to evoke wonder and horror all at once. But at his best - and I'm thinking here of stories like "Mad Dog Summer," The Cowboy," and "Not From Detroit" - Lansdale can really affect the reader, bringing out surprisingly effective emotion that touches deeply while never feeling cheap or manipulative. Between this and the amazing The Complete Drive-In, I think I'm sold on Lansdale and dying to check out more of his work. And if you've never read any, but the description of a lowbrow Texas redneck splatterpunk horror author with a lot of heart intrigues you - trust me, you have to get started on this one, and do it soon. |
| 7-25 | The
Sign of Four, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
|
By all accounts, neither of these two novels - the first entries in the Sherlock Holmes series - were all that successful when they were first released. It wasn't until the short stories began that Holmes really became a phenomenon, and that's a fact that may not entirely shock you when you read both of these. That's not to say that either of them are bad; they simply don't work quite as well as the short stories that Doyle would come to later. Take A Study in Scarlet, the introduction of Holmes. The case under investigation - involving a body that seems to have died for no reason, surrounded by blood that's not his own - is a solid one, and it's interesting to see Doyle begin to develop the relationship between Watson and Holmes for the first time. But the pacing is incredibly odd here, and often frustrating. The first half of the book details the pursuit of the criminal; after that, the book abruptly shifts to a new locale, a (seemingly) new story, and a new cast of characters. By the time we reconnect to the main plot thread, it's gone so long that we have to brush back up on what happened. And the essentially Holmesian scene where the logic and deductions are laid bare? Tossed into the epilogue almost as an afterthought. Then again, it's a first novel, and the characters, the story, and the deductions are all still enough to keep the reader more than involved. However, it's hard to say that Doyle would have been as successful if the books didn't evolve, and The Sign of Four definitely shows signs of improvement. Holmes displays far more personality and depth here, his relationship with Watson is far more engaging, and the case (this time dealing with a strange series of gifts, a one-legged man, and a mysterious sigil) is far better paced, and it's clear that Doyle started to realize that letting the reader "play along" with Holmes was a lot more fun than making them play catch up at the book's end. It's a far better book than Study, and sets the stage nicely for The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, the solid and involving set of short stories that came next in the series. |
| 7-23 | A
Study in Scarlet, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle |
|
| 7-16 | Cemetery
Dance, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
|
It's been far too long since I read a Preston and Child book; they're two guys who've written a whole slew of fun, enjoyable adventure books that always felt like a cousin to The X-Files - that is, full of strange, unbelievable events that might not be as supernatural as they seem underneath it all. Cemetery Dance is no exception, and while I wouldn't put it against their best books, it's still a great reminder of why I liked these guys in the first place and why I regret taking so long since I read their last one. The book kicks off with a bang as the authors kill off one of their main recurring characters, setting up for an intriguing mystery: how, exactly, was the man killed by someone who committed suicide a week before? Bringing back the eccentric Agent Pendergast and incorporating everything from animal sacrifice to voodoo to zombies to angry mobs, Preston and Child keep everything moving along at a great pace, letting their characters play around with the mystery and try to piece it all together before things get out of hand. The how and why of Cemetery Dance are a little disappointing; the former requires a lot of things to play out just perfectly, and the latter, while clever in some ways, ultimately raises as many questions as it settles. But the book still works as a whole, delivering a lot of excitement and a good deal of fun all the way through to the oddly touching final chapter. |
| 7-10 | Tinker,
Tailor, Soldier, Spy, by John Le Carré
|
Widely hailed as one of the most essential spy novels of all time, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is the story of a (forcibly) retired British Intelligence agent who is brought in to investigate the belief that there is a Soviet mole in the highest echelons on the agency. What follows is a spy novel unlike any other that I've read - it's gripping, intelligent, and involving, but also maddeningly oblique and frustratingly distant from its characters. Tinker, Tailor unfolds largely through a series of conversations, as our protagonist questions, converses, and interrogates a series of people about various incidences in an effort to piece together the identity of the mole. These conversations are compelling narratives, and there's a joy to reading a book about a character using his intellect to piece something together instead of his firepower or strength. Even the few "action" sequences are largely spy games - document thefts, observations, and so forth. And yet, Tinker, Tailor is also frustrating in its distance from its characters. Of the key players, we only really get to know two of them, and while we know some of the inner life of our hero, we're not privy to any of his deductions or theories, leaving the reader to fit it all together. That's not inherently a bad thing, but as the final pieces come together, we should feel something about the reveal of the mole - some sort of emotional connection, some feeling of betrayal, or even a satisfaction of putting the pieces together. Instead, we get what feels like a final piece of a puzzle we can't quite see all of. All of that being said, Tinker, Tailor is a compelling read, and a fantastically intelligent one. It fails to grip on a deeper, more emotional level, but it's still satisfying in a variety of other ways. |
| 7-6 | The
Sladen Suit, by Brian Evenson |
One of my favorite things about the birth of the eBook industry is the resurgence of short stories as a viable writing form. After all, when you can sell a story for a cheap price to readers, you open up a great market for stories that don't fit in elsewhere, you give the readers a chance to sample new authors for cheaper, and short stories get to make a comeback. All of which brings me to "The Sladen Suit," a short story by Brian Evenson, a horror writer with literary blood in his veins (I've compared his work to some unholy union of Poe, McCarthy, and Ketchum before). Like many of Evenson's short stories, the environment here is a nightmarish one, but a mysterious one as well - we have no idea why our characters are on their lost ship, we have no idea why some of them are dying, and we have no idea even who they are. All we know is that they are desperate to escape...and that leads them to the sladen suit. What follows is a creepy, eerie tale without many answers, but which is all the more effective for its ambiguity. It's not Evenson's best short story, but it's a solid one, and in many ways, it's a perfect starting point into his work - it's not as oppressive or surreal as his more extreme work, but contains his same gift for language and knack for strange, unnerving imagery and moments. If you want to start reading Evenson - and I thoroughly recommend you do so - "The Sladen Suit" will give you a taste for his work, and it'll leave you a little creeped out as you finish it. (From here, I'd say that his novel Last Days will really start to show you what he's capable of.) And while it might be a little overpriced for its length, it's nonetheless a great piece of horror fiction. |
| 7-5 | The
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle |
Somehow, despite being an avid reader and a huge fan of crime fiction and mysteries, I've made it to age 30 without ever reading much Sherlock Holmes. Well, thanks to a free Kindle download of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, that's changed, and you can consider me hooked. That's not to say that Adventures is a flawless collection. Even with only twelve stories, there are a few motifs and themes - hidden identities, secret lives, disappearing people - that recur so often as to be distracting and make the cases a little repetitive, and Doyle's story structure tends to be rigid and unvarying. Holmes and Watson talk for a bit, the case is introduced and the facts laid out, Holmes disappears to investigate, and then everything is laid out at the end. At the same time, it's not hard to understand the appeal of the stories, even all these years later. Holmes is a fascinating, compelling character, and his relationship with Watson gives the stories a solid hook, to say nothing of letting the characters develop into something more than flat participants. And, of course, there's those wonderful deductions and investigations, where we watch Holmes explain it all in such a way that makes it seem so obvious, even though we could never see the things he sees. In a lot of ways, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes is a perfect starting point for a newcomer like me; in its 12 tales, it gives you a great introduction into the world of Holmes, gives you a sense of his logic and process, and whets your appetite to see what he can do when the cases are something bigger and grander. So is it any surprise that I'm jumping right into A Study in Scarlet (the first Holmes novel) after this? |
| 7-4 | A
Game of Thrones, by George R.R. Martin |
In which George R.R. Martin manages the impressive feat of building a massive world, establishing dozens of complex characters and their relationships, setting up a labyrinthine plot full of political machinations and complicated motivations, and does it all while managing a pace that keeps the reader absolutely hooked into his world. Martin has his work cut out here; the world of Westeros is a huge and complex one, and by starting his work essentially in medias res (that is, there is a vast amount of backstory that influences each of the characters), he only makes that more difficult. Add into that the choice to tell the story entirely through third-person limited perspectives (each chapter is confined to a single character's viewpoint, and the choices of character are limited), and you might wonder how Martin can manage to make this all work. The remarkable thing is, not only does he succeed, the book is absolutely masterful, juggling all of the difficult tasks in such a way that you quickly forget about them and simply immerse yourself in the tapestry Martin has made. There's lots to praise about Game of Thrones, but first and foremost, there are Martin's characters, all of whom defy easy characterization or simple description, but live and breathe all the more effectively for that choice. More than that, Martin brings a maturity and intelligence to his plotting, trusting his readers to be able to follow the various story threads and piece together the motivations even when they may not seem immediately clear. It's a mature and thoughtful take on the fantasy genre, which no doubt explains much of the appeal; in a genre that so often becomes synonymous with adolescent fantasies, it's a joy to find one with true depth and nuance. My only real regret is not waiting longer between my viewing of the first season of the outstanding HBO series before reading it; the adaptation is so faithful that it was hard sometimes to judge the book as its own entity. But I'll also say this: reading this has left me eager to see what else Martin has up his sleeve, and makes me question my decision to wait for the second season of the show. |
| 6-26 | Manhood
for Amateurs, by Michael Chabon
|
Manhood for Amateurs doesn't quite measure up to Chabon's previous essay collection, Maps and Legends, but it's nonetheless another great demonstration of Chabon's astonishing literary talents and his knack for immersing the reader in a world created by his prose. The essays in Manhood for Amateurs, as the title somewhat implies, is about the various meanings of being a man, be it the loss of virginity, the trials of fatherhood, the importance of being a paternal figure for someone else, or the challenges of being a husband. The essays here are brief ones, typically less than four or five pages, and that brevity sometimes frustrates; too often, it feels like Chabon is just hitting his stride and starting to bring everything to a different level when the essay comes to an abrupt end. And yet, at the same time, the short lengths allow Chabon to tackle such a wide diversity of topics - from Jose Canseco to Christianity in schools, from the pangs of watching a daughter mature to his feelings on seeing Obama's victory speech, from the joys of a basement to embracing geekery with his children - that you feel as though you've gotten a massive spectrum of information and a nice variety of topics. And with Chabon's typical thoughtfulness, intelligence, and wry humor, his tackling of these ideas was a joy to behold, leaving me both entertained and thoughtful as I finished them. If you can only get one collection of essays, I'd say go with Maps and Legends, but the margin's a small one. Manhood for Amateurs is still great and just another piece of evidence in the case for Chabon's talent. |
| 6-19 | Mister
Slaughter, by Robert McCammon
|
If you had asked me ten years ago what Robert McCammon would write if he ever started writing again, it's unlikely I would have said, "Oh, probably writing a multi-book series about a lawyer/investigator in Colonial America. You know, a series that could gradually become a sort of Sherlock Holmes-inspired story about a young man facing a league of evil." And yet, that's exactly what he's doing. And even weirder? He's really good at it. Mister Slaughter is the third book in the Matthew Corbett series (after the witch trials of Speaks the Nightbird and the intricate mystery of The Queen of Bedlam), and for my money, it may be the best of the series. It certainly has the simplest plot of the series - Corbett and his partner have to escort a dangerous prisoner from an asylum to his boat bound for London - but that streamlined storyline only allows McCammon to focus more on moving the action along at a breakneck pace, tossing in surprises, shocks, and some spectacular action in at a rate I wasn't really prepared for, based off of the other two books. The result is a really fantastic thriller, one that uses its established characters and their personalities and pasts perfectly to accentuate the action. The overarching plot of the series is starting to come into sharper focus as it continues, but so is McCammon's writing, mostly dropping the winks about modern times ("What next? You'll say that people one day won't need horses to travel! Bah!") and instead immersing himself in the time to a fuller degree. Long story short, Mister Slaughter is a great thriller, historical or not; moreover, while I might never have expected the series from McCammon, it doesn't make it any less enjoyable, or any less gratifying to have him writing books again. |
| 6-7 | Sourcery,
by Terry Pratchett |
Sourcery is an odd book by Discworld standards. Yes, it's incredibly written; yes, the characters are charming and incredibly well-developed; yes, the prose is effortless and often hilarious. But this may also be the most "epic" Discworld novel, the one in which we're reminded that we're reading a fantasy series, as the Wizards of Discworld find themselves channeling a much older and more powerful form of magic, and deciding that perhaps they should be in charge of the world, and not merely an afterthought. What follows is nothing short of a global (circular?) war of magic, with the Apocralypse (yes, that's what I meant to type) waiting in the wings. Magic has always been a part of the Discworld, so it's intriguing to see Pratchett tackle it head on and answer all those questions about why the Wizards seem so ineffectual - and do so in a way that gives Discworld a sense of truly horrific danger. As always, Pratchett's plotting is perfect, juggling the book's action with the small but dedicated efforts of Rincewind as well as some unlikely companions he pairs up with, to say nothing of the rather large part played by the Librarian. Sourcery isn't the funniest of the Discworld books, but it's one of the most exciting ones, and one of the most ambitious, and I rocketed through it to find out what would happen next - even though I've read the later books and knew everyone would be fine. And that's pretty high praise, don't you think? |
| 6-7 | The
Tipping Point, by Malcolm Gladwell |
A study of social phenomena, The Tipping Point argues that major societal changes occur not only because of gradual pressures and cumulative effects, but also because of what he refers to as "tipping points" - times when everything comes together and begins a wave of change, turning an idea into a movement. The idea is a relatively simple one, but watching as Gladwell uses it to explain any number of intriguing ideas - how crime in New York dropped thanks to a cleanup of graffiti, or how Blue's Clues changed children's television forever, or how Paul Revere was really the only man for the job - is an absolute treat. The Tipping Point plays with some profound and fascinating ideas, but never dives too deeply into academia or its attendant jargon. Instead, Gladwell tells his stories simply and with a nice touch of humor, making his points clearly and intelligently without ever beating them into the ground. The Tipping Point is a fascinating read, one that explains a lot about the world in a way that makes you kick yourself for not coming up with it all yourself - after all, it seems so obvious when he explains it! If there's a shortcoming to The Tipping Point, it's that Gladwell isn't as interested in how we can tap into this idea and make use of it; rather, he's an observer here, someone explaining the way the world works without offering advice on what to do about it. But given how intriguing and fascinating these ideas are, that's a small complaint about a superb book. |
| 6-2 | Deathbird
Stories, by Harlan Ellison |
The subtitle for Deathbird Stories is "A Pantheon of Modern Gods," which in some ways is a more appropriate title for the collection, given that this is a tale of modern gods in our society: the god of the automobile, of the city, of brutality, of war, of machines. And, as expected from Ellison, the collection is masterful work, with even the "worst" stories still being compelling. But at its best, Deathbird Stories is unnerving, disturbing stuff. "The Whimper of Whipped Dogs" kicks off the collection with a nightmarish look into the infamous Kitty Genovese case, finding at its heart something far more evil than we first thought...and yet something all the more believable for its brutality. Bookending it is "The Deathbird," a postmodern retelling of the book of Genesis from a very different perspective, all the way to a perfect ending for the collection. And between the two come any number of knockouts, including a fascinating take on the ghost story as set in a casino ("Pretty Maggie Moneyeyes"), a surreal plunge into 60s rebellion ("Shattered Like a Glass Goblin"), an unusual effort to understand pain and torment ("Paingod"), a surreal little burst of terror ("Bleeding Stones"), and even a weirdly comic tale of love in the strangest place ("Neon"). For too many people, Ellison is known more for his outspoken rants and his difficult personality; Deathbird Stories is a reminder that behind the critic, there's a ridiculously talented and intelligent author capable of incredible work. |
| 5-22 | Ladies
Night, by Jack Ketchum
|
Jack Ketchum's long-buried (due to its violent nature, naturally) followup to Off Season finally gets a new life thanks to e-readers, and it turns out to be a fantastic riff on Night of the Living Dead that's as much about the battle of the sexes as it is about graphic, pulp horror. Ketchum opens the e-version with a long discussion as to the backstory of the piece that's worth reading, but ultimately, the combination of the widespread revulsion at Off Season and the perceived misogyny of Ladies Night kept the book from ever really getting a release. And while I understand the first from a financial perspective, I think the second is entirely missing the point. Ladies Night is indeed about a night in which, for reasons which are only hinted at throughout, the female population of a city essentially turn into bloodthirsty killers, and the violence inflicted both by and upon women could easily lead some to feel that the book is a fantasy outlet for male rage. But I think that's missing the point. I think it's more telling that Ketchum's original tagline for the book was "In the battle between the sexes, one side just fired the opening shot." This is not a book that leaves anyone looking good; both sides are both victims and victimizers, albeit on a massive and horrific scale beyond what you see in a typical divorce case. All of that being said, the subtext wouldn't matter if this didn't succeed as a horror piece, so it's nice that this works so well as grisly pulp horror. The only real downside comes from how closely Ketchum sometimes sticks to the Night of the Living Dead template; there are moments that feel less shocking simply because you can feel that film's shadow forcing Ketchum's hand. But for every moment like that, there are dozens more that play out in entirely other ways, resulting in a spectacular piece of mayhem and bloodshed. You can probably guess, but Ladies Night isn't for all tastes. If you've got a taste for this kind of thing, though, this is a damned good piece of pulp horror. |
| 5-21 | 2030:
The Real Story of What Happens to America, by Albert Brooks
|
I'm a pretty huge fan of Albert Brooks. I think he's one of those rare human beings who is just naturally, effortlessly funny - his speech, his conversations, his dialogue, his delivery, it all just kills me. His recently launched Twitter feed has been one of the most consistently funny feeds I've ever read. So when I found out he had written a book about the future, I was thrilled. Here was the man who had so perfectly captured America with Lost in America, who had created a wondrous and funny afterlife in Defending Your Life...how great would this be? Imagine my surprise when I found out that far from being a comedic novel, 2030 is essentially a piece of speculative fiction about where the country could be heading. "Not funny?" you say. "I keep hearing it's hilarious!" Look, I'm not saying there aren't some funny moments, but funny moments in a serious book do not make it into a comedy. And when a book is about America's crippling debt, groups of young people who hate senior citizens and plan on killing them, a devastating earthquake that flattens an American metropolis past any repair, massive overpopulation problems, and so on...no, it's not really all that funny, no matter what all these other Amazon reviewers say. And yet, nor is 2030 bad. In fact, it's pretty good. Brooks makes some nice observations about society and our trends, and it's to his credit that the book feels as honest and true as it does. No, as many have commented, the book never feels "important" enough or weighty enough to truly feel as though there's a heavy statement being made. But as he does in all of his movies, Brooks populates his book with fun characters, creates a world wholly recognizable and yet oddly askew, still has a nice ear for dialogue, and generally creates a nicely engaging read. 2030 won't change your life, but it's a winning debut for Brooks, and a sign that he's got more talent as a novelist than I might have expected. I'll be curious to see what comes next from him, and to see if he can shake off some of the minor problems here - an often inconsequential and meandering storyline, a few plot threads that could use trimming - to turn out something even better. |
| 5-15 | Kill
Screen #2: Back to School |
The second issue of Kill Screen - a quarterly publication dedicated to intelligent, scholarly articles about video games - revolves around the theme of academia and education, and while the essays are still interesting, they lack the emotional heft and hook that anchored the magazine's spectacular first issue. That's not to say that the "Back to School" issue isn't worth reading - there are some outstanding pieces in here, including a history of the famous educational game Oregon Trail, a look at an effort to integrate language instruction with the world of an MMORPG, an interview with the award-winning historian who helped with the world of Assassin's Creed II, and lots of other fascinating entries. Once again, Kill Screen sets a high bar for writing, presenting essays on video games and gaming culture without apology or explanation, and thoroughly justifying that with its articles. I'm very curious to see how well and for how long Kill Screen can maintain this level of quality; if we're lucky, it will be for a very long time indeed. |
| 5-9 | Quick
Fixes, by F. Paul Wilson
|
If you're a fan of the Repairman Jack series and you don't pick this up, you're a crazy person. And if you're not a fan, I have to say, this is a fantastic way to get into what is easily one of the best thriller series being written today. Quick Fixes is a collection of short stories about Repairman Jack, ranging from some that have been worked into the novels of the series to pieces published in compilations and long out of print anthologies. I've always thought that Wilson underrated his abilities as a short story author, and the Jack stories really bear that out; these works really strip Jack down to his core, reminding us that the series originated with a man whose intellect and knack for subterfuge made his mind just as big of a threat as his physical prowess. Stripped of the complex mythology of the series, Quick Fixes is Jack at his purest, telling tales that are as much about the cleverness of the plans as their success or failure. Really, there's not a truly weak story in the batch to me, but even if there were, stories like "The Long Way Home" (in which one of Jack's deepest fears comes true) and "Interlude at Duane's" (which finds Jack squaring off against a crew of robbers with only the contents of a drugstore at his disposal) would make this worth every single penny. Wilson says this was largely compiled for the completist, and as a longtime Jack fan, this collection is an absolute treat that really reminded me how much fun Jack stories can be. But even if you're a newcomer to the series, this is a great starting point - the short pieces and sharp writing are a great sample of the fantastic series to come. Whichever you are, you absolute can't miss this one - the cheap price and high quality make this a must buy for whatever e-book system you've got. |
| 5-5 | The
Passage, by Justin Cronin
|
It's rare for an author's debut in a genre to be a sweeping epic tale, and yet that's exactly what Justin Cronin creates in The Passage: a modern horror epic, and a really, really good one at that. Though the idea of a new vampire novel doesn't immediately fill anyone with promise, there's no need to worry about the Anne Rice/Stephenie Meyer effect here; Cronin's vampires are brutal, animalistic creations, ones that both reflect the ancient myths and offer some surprising variations, and yet always lead to gruesome horrors to come. The plot is, in some ways, standard post-apocalyptic fare, involving a quest by a small group of survivors that may bring some hope to the world. But that doesn't really reflect the level of freshness and creativity present throughout the book, from the first act of the book that sets the stage for what's to come to the intriguing hints of a world set after the one of the novel. Moreover, Cronin makes his book work with fascinating, complex, rewarding characters that involve you and keep you reading long into the night, desperate to know how they will survive (if, in fact, they will - Cronin is quick to cut down characters when you least expect it). And as if all that weren't enough, Cronin brings a gift for prose to the book, creating gorgeous turns of phrases, poetic descriptions and characters, and a great sense of style. I went in with some modest expectations here, and The Passage blew them out of the water. I'm both excited and frustrated that it's book one in a trilogy - frustrated because I didn't know until I read, but excited because it means there's more of this tale to come. If you're a horror fan, you really owe it to yourself to check this out. |
| 4-19 | Nightkill,
by F. Paul Wilson and Steven Spruill 
|
A disappointingly bland, generic, and completely forgettable thriller from Wilson and a co-writer whose other work I'm unfamiliar with (but this doesn't exactly make me want to check out). There's a number of things wrong with Nightkill, which follows a betrayed hitman and his quest for revenge, but the most critical is that every single character is exactly who you think they are. There are no hidden depths, no complexities, no novel sides lurking underneath - everyone is who they say they are, and there's nothing more to it. Making matters worse, the one interesting and novel idea in the book - the nature of the hitman's betrayal and what he has to do to come back from it - is largely tossed in as an afterthought and ignored, only used for dramatic tension but for nothing more. I tend to really like Wilson a lot, but this is definitely among his weakest, least interesting books, without even a neat idea or a novel twist to carry it along. Dull, dull, dull. But at least it's short. |
| 4-17 | Zeitoun,
by Dave Eggers |
As Hurricane Katrina closed in on New Orleans, Abdulrahman Zeitoun, a Syrian immigrant and practicing Muslim, decided to wait out the storm and help out where he could in the aftermath, letting his family flee for higher, safer ground. Dave Eggers' nonfiction novel follows Zeitoun through the storm and into the destruction that came afterward, following this man as he attempted to help others, fix problems, and assist wherever he could, all before things took an unexpected and horrific turn. Even though Zeitoun is based on a true story, I purposely avoided knowing anything about the man or his life before I started into the book, which made the events that unfolded all the more shocking and gut-wrenching for me to experience - much, I'm sure, as they were for Zeitoun and his family. There's a lot more to Zeitoun than simply a tale of a Katrina survivor, but what happens is infuriating, horrific, and inexcusable on every imaginable level, and left me shaking with rage at the injustice on display. As opposed to his work in What is the What, Eggers strips Zeitoun down to its core, telling the story simply and without much in the way of a literary conceit, and the simplicity suits the tale, allowing the images and experiences to speak for themselves - something they do horrifically well, all the way to the brief but devastating epilogue to it all. Zeitoun is a quick read, but the subject matter and the events make it hard to say that it's an "easy" read; instead, it's one that will expose you to events that no one should ever have to undergo, and immerses you so well in the perspectives of Zeitoun and his wife that you experience their pain and tumult right there with them. The end result is a powerful book, one that should be better known and discussed, rather than forgotten along with so much that happened in the wake of that storm and its aftermath. |
| 4-14 | Drama
City, by George Pelecanos
|
One of the things I've come to love about George Pelecanos is the way he can take simple, even archetypal stories and spin them into profound, moving portraits of human, flawed characters, and Drama City is no exception. The story here revolves around an ex-con named Lorenzo Brown who is working with the Humane Society to put his life back on track, his parole officer, whose alcohol abuse is starting to affect her day-to-day life, and Brown's old partner in crime, whose drug operation is starting to bump into that of an up-and-comer who's ready to take on more of the world. The intersections between these stories are simple ones, but as always with Pelecanos, the plot is mainly a structure to hang a rich, vibrant, complex world in which these characters live. From discussions about addiction to the life of a paroled offender, from the choices of young boys in the projects to the realities of dog fighting, Pelecanos invests every aspect of his book with honest emotion, unflinching honesty, and a human compassion that makes the book profoundly moving and affecting in ways I didn't expect. Some will complain that not much happens here, and while I concede that point, I disagree that it makes it a weak book. This is a book about people struggling with their choices, their environments, and those who control them, and the cumulative impact is quietly devastating in its own quiet way. Drama City probably moves to the top of my Pelecanos rankings; I found myself unable to stop thinking about it after I finished it, and even now, a few days later, its characters and their choices still resonate with me and leave me thinking about them. |
| 4-8 | Unseen
Academicals, by Terry Pratchett
|
The latest burst of genius and chaos from Terry Pratchett, Unseen Academicals finds its inspiration in the world of soccer and obsessive fandom, as an obscure regulation forces the wizards of Unseen University to form a team to prevent losing their funding. How all of this ties into modeling contracts, a very unusual goblin, street gang rivalries, the ever-present influence of Vetinari, the Librarian's theories of banana location, and more - well, that's the joy of Pratchett incarnate, as all of these threads and more come together in incredibly satisfying and fun ways. The only real complaint I have about Unseen Academicals is that it's a little too sprawling, as though Pratchett had a few too many ideas and tried to cram them all in. But a book with too many ideas is infinitely preferable to one with not enough, and when they're housed in a book with such marvelous, rich characters and Pratchett's brilliant prose, that's a very, very minor complaint. Here is a book where funny and smart lines like "Cleanliness was next to godliness, which was to say it was erratic, past all understanding, and was seldom seen" are the norm, not the exception; a book where the characters, no matter how strange and inventive, are recognizably alive; and the story manages to be both funny and profound with ease. In short, it's just another testament to Pratchett's genius and talent. |
| 3-30 | Naked
Lunch, by William S. Burroughs |
There's really no way that I can apply any sort of standard measurement or review to Naked Lunch. Here is a book that is, for all intents and purposes, plotless; the author himself says it's to can be read in random order, diving in and out as you please. And what chapters there are exist more as catalogs of surreal, nightmarish, and very often incredibly obscene, even pornographic, imagery. And yet, you can't deny the power and impact of Burroughs' writing, nor the way he immerses you in the life and hallucinations/musings of a drug addict, creating a waking hell which he seems to be simultaneously enjoying and trying desperately to escape. Naked Lunch is a challenging read; despite its short length, it feels daunting, and even having finished it, I'm not sure I can really explain what I read. But as a defiant jab at 50s culture, a desire to express a world that so many never wanted to see, an effort to express his complex worldview, and an attempt to expose the world to a thriving subculture, it's a powerful achievement. A standard review seems impossible for me to achieve here, and even my grade is only an approximation of my feelings. Did I always like it? No - often I was frustrated at its incoherency, annoyed by the incessant cavalcade of grotesque imagery, or exhausted from trying to piece it all together into a whole. But at the same time, was I fascinated and drawn in, unable to stop reading? Undoubtedly. Was I often impressed by its thoughtfulness, odd humor, and surreal imagination? Oh yes. And did I admire it as a cumulative accomplishment? Most definitely. I can't say I would recommend it for many people, but for those with a taste for adventurous literature that ignores boundaries and rules, Naked Lunch is an essential piece of reading. |
| 3-25 | Shoedog,
by George Pelecanos
|
Shoedog couldn't have a more archetypal B-movie film noir storyline: a wandering hitchhiker gets picked up by a man who gets him involved with a powerful crime boss, a series of robberies, and a crew of thieves with their own private agendas and codes. But you know what? Archetypes aren't always bad, and when they're done with this much fun and style, it's hard to complain too much. Shoedog isn't as rich and rewarding as Pelecanos's best work; gone are the societal depictions, gone are the complex motivations and moral shades of gray. But in their place is a really fun read, with colorful characters, great conversations, some hard, hard men, and a slew of betrayals and private power games. The end result is a fun crime read, particularly if you're a fan of noir, be it classic or neo. Don't expect the greatness of Pelecanos's later work, but if you set that aside, you'll find this one to be a really enjoyable read that wraps up with a bit of a surprisingly abrupt ending. |
| 3-24 | Chronic
City, by Jonathan Lethem |
Chase Insteadman is a former child TV star coasting on the royalties from his earlier television fame. His girlfriend is an astronaut unable to return to Earth, stranded on a space station. His friends are paranoid stoners, eccentric ghost writers, and political movers and shakers. And all of this comes together in a story about...well, nothing, really. Chronic City is full of Lethem's usual strong writing and great character work, but the story meanders from wandering conversation to wandering conversation without much momentum or point for much of the book. About 2/3 of the way through the book, the reader gets a glimpse that there may be something more going on, and much of the book's apparently pointless nature comes into a sort of focus. All of that wouldn't be so bad if Chronic City weren't so overlong, taking far too long to get to its point and hence never really justifying the length of it all. It's a disappointing work from Lethem, not because of its ideas or its language, but simply because of its aimless, drifting nature that overcomes the point buried somewhere deep in its pages. |
| 3-12 | Cover,
by Jack Ketchum
|
Another tale of human horror from Ketchum, Cover revolves around a severely PTSD-afflicted Vietnam vet and a group of upper-crust Los Angelinos who end up intruding into his private world. There's a lot that Ketchum does well, and some of his strengths - his knack for writing damaged psychoses, his ability to pace out the horrors well, his strong grasp of interesting and flawed characters - are definitely in evidence here. But for the first time in my experience, Cover also ultimately feels a little cliched, giving the reader a strong sense of "been there, done that." The idea of a deadly Vietnam vet has been done before, and although Ketchum does it with more sympathy for the vet than the genre typically brings, this still feels like familiar ground. I wouldn't go so far as to call Cover a bad book - it's too well-written, too well-crafted, and too character-driven to be generic and forgettable - but neither does it feel as effective as Ketchum's best works. It may have felt more original when it came out, but to me, it's definitely a lesser work among Ketchum's confrontations with human evil. |
| 3-11 | Cautionary
Tales, by Stephen Tobolowsky (Kindle Single)
|
I've gone on at length to anyone who will listen about how wonderful The Tobolowsky Files (a podcast of stories told by character actor Stephen Tobolowsky) is to listen to, how it may be one of the best podcasts available out there, and how Tobo's stories are funny, moving, profound, and always engaging. So it's no surprise to find that Tobo's writing debut - a short piece available at a low rate through Amazon's new Kindle Singles program - has a lot of that same joy and storytelling talent. In telling his "cautionary tales," Tobo tells a few stories of sexual misadventures (don't worry - these are PG-13 at worst), all while expounding on his theory that our brain contains impulses that force us to choose between what we want, what we need, and what the Rolling Stones would do while they're on tour. To be fair, the end result isn't one Tobo's best tales. It's all very funny (I laughed out loud more than once) and enjoyable, but it lacks the cohesion and thematic complexity of his best works, to say nothing of his willingness to explore darker material. All of that being said, it's still a lot of fun to read, the price can't be beaten, and it's nice to find that Tobo's stories are just as well told on the page as they are verbally. And, of course, if you're a fan of the podcast, you'll find a lot to love here. As for those of you who don't listen to the podcast....what's wrong with you? Go subscribe and take the time to go through the archives. You won't be disappointed. |
| 3-11 | The
Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger |
Full disclosure: I honestly didn't think I would like this book. The story of a man adrift in time and his lifelong romance with the girl of his dreams - including their encounters when he is grown and she is a young girl - The Time Traveler's Wife sounded like a book written for a demographic that I definitely didn't find myself in. And yet, I was drawn into this book from the first page, and finished it feeling a heavier emotional impact from it than much in recent memory. There's so much to discuss here, but few things as critical as how intelligently Niffenegger handles her central premise. There's a touch of magic realism to it all, of course, but more than that, she juggles two different perceptions of time, two different spots in the history of a relationship between two people, and two different memories of the past perfectly. Rather than sidestepping the complications and philosophical questions in favor of a romance story, Niffenegger confronts them, giving the book a richness and depth that I didn't expect and savored all the more for its sweet nature. What's more, the relationship between Henry and Clare is a surprisingly affecting one; for all its inevitability (at times, it seems the characters have become drawn into this relationship outside of their own control), Niffenegger allows the characters to breathe, to question their fates, to wonder about how much their own free will matters, all while recognizing how much they need the other person and how much their own life has been altered by this strange chronological displacement. There's far, far more to talk about than I can touch on in this brief review - the book's complex and moving attitude towards death, the tragic nature of fate, the beautiful and unexpected side effects of being able to move backward and forward in time, a genuinely engaging sense of humor about itself and its premise - but the simple fact is this: I was absolutely floored by how much I loved this book. I expected to find a middling romance with some creepy undercurrents that left me rolling my eyes. Instead, I was entranced by this strange relationship, intrigued by the book's philosophical complexities, and moved by the wondrous plotting, all the way to the perfect climax and final scene. |
| 3-8 | Ellen
Foster, by Kaye Gibbons
|
There are several reviews of Ellen Foster that try to position the book as Catcher in the Rye for girls, and I suppose I understand that. After all, here's a book with a smart, funny female narrator with little tolerance for the foolishness and stupidity she sees in the world around her, as well as the fact that the book is about her journey (albeit one to find a family). But really, apart from that point, the comparison falls short. Ellen feels closer to a blend of Scout and Huck Finn - not all that well educated, but equally blunt and honest and frequently hilarious. What sets Ellen Foster apart, then, is the fact that Ellen's emotional history and evolution is so complex and heartbreaking. While the story may be simple - Ellen bounces from family to family in an effort to find one in which she belongs - her observations, interactions, and evolution in her beliefs all combine to give the story more heft than its plot would suggest. Yes, some of the characters (as we're shown them) are one-dimensional to a fault, but as limited to Ellen's small worldview, the reduction makes a little more sense, especially once Ellen's painful family history is taken into account. Really, this is a book more enjoyable for its main character than its story, but the great writing and engaging emotional arc make up for some of the cliched aspects of the plotting. |
| 3-8 | The
Secret Life of Bees, by Sue Monk Kidd
|
The story of a young white girl in the 1960s and flees from her abusive/neglectful father along with her black nanny (who she's freed from police custody), it's not surprising to see how often The Secret Life of Bees is described as a gender-reversed Huckleberry Finn. There's a lot to appreciate about Bees, most notably Lily's character arc, which revolves around her quest to better know her deceased mother and her life. And the characters throughout the book are rich and interesting, even as you can't help but notice that there's a touch of one-note to some of them (most notably Lily's father). And yet, there's a distinct softening of the edges that haunts The Secret Life of Bees that really hurts the book. The book emphasizes and de-emphasizes the ugliness of racism as the story requires, which results in scenes like one in which a young white girl and a teenage black boy go driving around and receive stares of disapproval, while in other scenes people are beaten for the temerity of speaking up. There's some interesting material here, nonetheless, and Bees plays with some great ideas about matriarchy and the importance of self-reliance, and I can't help but feel that the book would probably be every bit as strong if freed from its period trappings. As it is, it feels like a more feminist To Kill a Mockingbird without that book's willingness to confront reality in a hard way. Nevertheless, it's a solid read; it's just one that's a little too sweet for its own good. |
| 3-7 | Maskerade,
by Terry Pratchett
|
In which Terry Pratchett takes on the world of opera with typically anarchic and yet thoughtful results. Pratchett's long been fascinated with the power of stories and their presentation (see, for instance, Moving Pictures and Wyrd Sisters), and Maskerade is no different, as the power of opera proves to be surprisingly durable. To be fair, there's a lot more of the musical in here than the opera, especially given that the main plot is Pratchett's fractured version of The Phantom of the Opera; but really, unless you're a diehard purist, does it matter? This is a Witches book, and while they've never been my favorite story arc, there's no denying the fun Pratchett has with these ladies and their effects on the world, and when these effects include mutating cats, observations about how to determine the IQ of a mob (answer: determine the IQ of the lowest member and divide by the number of mobsters), musings by Death as to the inadvisability of the dead intruding on murder investigations, and an appropriately operatic and over-the-top ending, how can you not have fun with this one? It may not be the equal of the series's highest points (Mort, Small Gods, Thud!), but it's still a blast. |
| 3-2 | The
Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson
|
The Devil in the White City is an oddly divided book. One half of the book deals with the construction and development of the Chicago World's Fair exposition, while the other half (in alternating chapters) covers H. H. Holmes, a serial killer operating in Chicago during the time. If you're wondering how these two ideas tie together...well, they don't, exactly. Larson prefers to let the themes simmer and let the readers draw them out, and the result is a somewhat schizophrenic book tied together more as a portrait of a time than from any thematic linkage. All of that being said, though, none of that makes the book any less fascinating or compelling of a read on every single page. Larson takes heavy inspiration from Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, taking historical fact and research and spinning it into a historical non-fiction novel of sorts, immersing himself in characters and their own worldview and bringing it all to life with beautiful and poetic prose that weaves in and out with the words from the time. And the detail here is fascinating; Larson evokes the atmosphere and whirlwind changes of the time, from politics to social issues, from societal pressures to the rise of feminism, and brings the White City to marvelous life, all while emphasizing the eerieness and dread of Holmes at the same time. I was fascinated by every detail and page of Devil in the White City; even while I feel like the two threads of the book never quite coalesce entirely, the story of Chicago in the midst of this change is no less compelling and riveting for its depth and diversity. Larson's book is a fascinating time machine of sorts, one that does something you might never expect: it will make you wish you were born in a tumultuous, dangerous time, if only to see the wonders the book shows to us. |
| 2-25 | Charlie
and the Great Glass Elevator, by Roald Dahl |
There's a lot going on in Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, Dahl's lesser-known followup to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. After all, this is a book involving a space hotel, a carnivorous alien threat that's very proud of its spelling abilities, a President dominated by his nanny (who's also his vice-president), a pill that makes people younger (to the point where they go into negative ages), and any number of other oddities and goofy asides. The plot of the book is loose, to put it mildly, but the looseness allows Dahl to pack the book with silliness and absurdities, including a budgetary officer who's working hard to balance the budget on his head and a most cunning fly trap. Does it all really cohere? No, not really. And there's a somewhat nastier and grouchier tone among the adults throughout the book, as opposed to the anarchic but sweet story of Chocolate Factory. That all being said, the book was still a huge hit with my four-year-old, who absolutely loved the silly tone of it all and reveled in how goofy it all was. As for adults, it doesn't hurt that Dahl has nicely sarcastic tone towards people in power that works on adults without ever being risque or smarmy. Is it as good as Chocolate Factory? Not at all. But it's still a fun little dose of whimsy and fun, and worth checking out if you enjoyed the original. (A note, though: some points of the book, most especially the conversation with the Chinese leaders, haven't aged so well, especially in these more culturally aware times. But they're easily skipped without missing much.) |
| 2-20 | I
Am the Cheese, by Robert Cormier |
As I Am the Cheese opens, our hero, a teenager named Adam Farmer, is riding on his bicycle to go visit his father. Alternating chapters cover Farmer's bike ride and his series of interviews with someone we assume is a psychologist, but who may be someone less altruistic. If that sounds like a spoiler, it's not. One of the great things about I Am the Cheese is how smart its characters are - just as we, the reader, start to think we're piecing things together, our characters are right there with us, keeping pace with us enough to keep us guessing as to what's really going on underneath it all. A classic of young adult fiction, I Am the Cheese works on any number of levels, not least of which is as a strong psychological thriller. A lot of YA fiction always orbits around the idea of identity and figuring out who you are, and I Am the Cheese does so in a complex way that's so effortlessly snuck into a thriller that it's easy to miss all the themes and ideas underneath it all. Of course, identity isn't all that's on the book's mind; much as in other Cormier books, there's a sense of paranoia and "us versus them," with individuals struggling to define themselves against the pressures of a vast power establishment. And, of course, all of this is done with Cormier's tight, controlled prose, creating a world full of hidden significances and dangers, all of which finally come together in a series of knockout revelations at the book's close. It's really no wonder that I Am the Cheese is so highly regarded; as is typical of Cormier, it approaches the world with a cynicism and frustration that any teenager would recognize, but does so in an uncondescending way, all while telling a great story. A classic that deserves its place. |
| 2-20 | Worth
Dying For, by Lee Child |
I remember watching the movie Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels in college, and watching as the film slowly drew together an incredibly diverse series of plot threads into a single apartment. While I've seen the moment done elsewhere just as well, if not better, I still remember the excitement as I realized what the filmmakers were doing and how much I was anticipating the payoff. I mention all of that because Worth Dying For gave me that feeling again and again and again, resulting in one of my favorite Reacher books of the entire series. Opening with Reacher watching a drunken doctor refusing to see a woman who's been beaten by her husband, Worth Dying For expands until it involves a ruthless family holding a town hostage, a series of gangsters from increasingly high steps up the food chain, a mysterious shipment, and Reacher's own sense of vengeance. Child's stories have always been a pleasure to see unfold, and Worth Dying For may be one of the most satisfying, as Child ties together flawed assumptions and clever bluffs into a riveting series of backstabbings and betrayals. If you've been reading the series for a long time, Worth Dying For is a must-read entry; it's one of the tightest, most involving, and most exciting books Child's written, and watching Reacher piece together the situation and dole out some (absolutely brutal) justice makes for an incredibly fun and satisfying read. If you've never read a Reacher book, you could do a lot worse than starting here - this is a great book that I simply could not get enough of. |
| 2-13 | The
Peabody- Ozymandias Traveling Circus & Oddity Emporium, by F. Paul Wilson
|
Peabody-Ozymandias started life as a cooperative novel called Freak Show, with Wilson providing the framework, characters, and large pieces of the story, while other authors contributed their own chapters and tales within the larger arc. For this publication, Wilson pulled out his own pieces of the text and published them by themselves as a standalone short work, and the results, while generally good, still feel like the partial work they are. The tale of a traveling freak show with their own agenda that will change the world, Peabody-Ozymandias plays with Wilson's Otherness mythology in some fun ways, and it provides a nice little side tale to the cosmology, complete with some surprisingly dark and violent scenes along the way. The problem, though, is that the book shows a lot of scars from where it was extracted, and it feels like it's filled with allusions and references to characters that are oddly absent. The main storyline isn't even excepted from this; while the relationship between one of the newer freaks and an acrobat flows along for the story, it still feels a little perfunctory and abridged. All of that being said, this is still a fun little tale, and Wilson tends to be a lot of fun when he can play without a net - that is, when he's not as concerned about keeping franchise characters alive, or when his heroes are a little on the darker side. This is definitely a secondary piece of the Adversary Cycle, but it's a fun little piece, and worth checking out if you're a Wilson fan. (A note on the Kindle edition: is there anything more annoying than forgetting to close off your Italic tag and having the rest of your story - almost 75% of the tale - end up in italics due to formatting problems?) |
| 2-12 | Charlie
and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl |
What an absolute joy this book is. If your only exposure to this is through the films, you really owe it to yourself to give this a read at some point. The story is pretty familiar to anyone at this point - the eccentric chocolate factory owner, the golden tickets, the four bratty children and the one impoverished good child, the gleefully bizarre fates and sights inside...is there anyone who isn't at least passingly familiar with the story? But the story itself is absolutely packed with treats, and first and foremost is Dahl's wonderful imagination that's on display on every single page. Charlie's a fable, no doubt; there's some heavy satire going on, and a lot of points about children and their parents as the real cause of many of their problems and issues. But reading it with my son was a nice way to remember just how wondrous and imaginative the entire work is, and watching his eyes widen and his jaws drop with some of the sights in the book was an absolute joy. And, as an adult, it's fun to see Dahl's sharp sense of humor shining through, most notably through the songs of the Oompa Loompas, which have a nasty, twisted wit to them. From the wonderful sketch drawings to the memorable characters, it's no wonder that Charlie is the classic that it is; what's nice is remembering just how much of that comes from the book rather than the movies. |
| 2-10 | Mort,
by Terry Pratchett
|
Terry Pratchett makes me angry, plain and simple. Not because his books are bad. In fact, quite the opposite - his books are so effortlessly good, so overflowing with rich humor and fascinating characters, so incredibly imaginative, that it makes me angry that he makes it look so ridiculously easy. I mean, Mort is a story in which Death takes on an apprentice for reasons that become more and more clear as the book develops, and over the course of the book, you have foiled assassinations, wizards who become terrified of statues, a massive wave of forgetfulness that doesn't even respond to large posters, an introduction to Death's adopted daughter, a terrifying beast named Binky...and that doesn't even really get into the story. And the man juggles it all perfectly, never dropping a ball and never letting any character get less than the right amount of time, even in such a short book. Even more infuriating? The way Pratchett takes such an iconic "character" as Death and makes something wholly new and wondrous out of it, something wholly unique and unforgettable. How can you do all that and make it this fun, this funny, and this imaginative, and make it look this easy? It just isn't fair. But you know, I guess I can't complain - not when his books make me this happy and this thrilled to be reading. And the fact that I still have some left to read is even better. Look - if you haven't read any of Pratchett's Discworld books, go. Go now and buy one - really, any of them. But Mort is an awfully good one to get started with. |
| 2-6 | Zombie
Spaceship Wasteland, by Patton Oswalt
|
If you pick up Zombie Spaceship Wasteland in the hopes of getting Oswalt's standup routine in printed form (or some variation thereof), well, you'll be a little disappointed. That's not to say that there's not some laugh-out-loud material here; from the description of some odd wine varieties to the detailed punch-up notes for a lost film script to a grandmother's defense of some bad birthday presents, Oswalt's still absolutely hilarious and in good form for a nice chunk of this book. But a lot of Wasteland is more serious - a mix of essay writing and memoir - and the end result is surprisingly effective and makes for an enjoyable read. From a frank discussion of Oswalt's favorite Dungeons and Dragons creation to a lengthy recounting of a memorable early headlining stop, Wasteland is as much about the incidents and history that helped Oswalt become who he is, and the fact that they're written so well and are so entertaining shouldn't really be a surprise, given how voracious of a reader Oswalt is, but it's still a great pleasure to find that he's as capable of honesty as he is humor. As with any essay collection, it's uneven, with the first essay perhaps being the weakest (it's a little overlong and underfocused, even with some great parts scattered throughout), but that's okay. There's not a complete misfire in the batch, and there are enough fantastic pieces to more than make up for it. The biggest disappointment is how short the book is, and if that's your worst complaint, then you've got yourself a pretty good read. So, it may not be a laugh riot beginning to end, but as a portrait of Oswalt's life, an exploration of geek culture, and a sampling of his offbeat sense of humor, you could do a lot worse than Zombie Spaceship Wasteland. (A final note: the Kindle version of this is put together pretty terribly. Lots of odd line breaks, a chapter heading in the wrong spot at one point, some odd indenting...it's definitely not a flagship title for the e-reader.) |
| 2-4 | Jack:
Secret Vengeance, by F. Paul Wilson
|
The final volume in Wilson's young-adult Jack books, Secret Vengeance ends the series with its strongest volume; even though it never quite answers the question of why exactly these stories needed to be told, it still makes for a fun ride. The setup of the book is simple enough, with Jack trying to find a way to avenge his friend's honor in a covert way, and at its best, the book hearkens back to the first few Jack books, where the fixes were as much about their creativity and their ingenuity as their goals. And while Wilson doesn't tie up all of the loose ends of the series, he does a great job setting this up as the Jack we know and love (although with the recent announcement that he'll be writing some books about Jack's life before The Tomb, we may have some more steps to come), all while giving hints about what's to come. Best of all, the book sheds most of the cringe-worthy "those wacky 80s!" moments and proceeds on a much more even keel, even though there are still a couple of ham-handed moments along the way, including the abrupt and jarring introduction of a well-known supporting figure. But all of that being said, this is the best of the YA Jack books by a long shot, and it's really a blast to read; it reminds you of how much fun Jack can be as a character, and gives him a chance to play a little bit before moving into the dark setting of the Adversary Cycle. Lots of fun, and a must for any fan of the series. |
| 2-3 | Handling
the Undead, by John Ajvide Lindqvist
|
Much like Lindqvist's earlier book, the superb vampire coming-of-age tale Let the Right One In, Handling the Undead traffics in horror trope, but turns them on their head by focusing on the emotional and psychological ramifications over the pure horror. As the title suggests, Handling the Undead is a zombie novel, one that focuses on a small Swedish town where the recently dead have come to life. As he did with Right One, Lindqvist creates complex characters with their own psychological scars, and watching his characters using the undead as a way of coping and coming to terms with death is fascinating. However, where Right One strode the line between drama and horror perfectly, Handling barely contains any horror elements at all, instead ultimately moving into supernatural events more about a somewhat fuzzy cosmology (and maybe theology) than evil. None of this makes Handling the Undead a bad book, but it's also never quite as gripping as you'd like. The stakes are low, the threats mild, and the ending is ultimately a little unclear and frustrating. That being said, there's something appealing about such a different take on zombies, and there's no denying that Lindqvist's characters are compelling enough to watch develop, much less their perfect thematic pairing with the material. It's just that the book lacks the edge it needs to push it into something truly great. |
| 1-30 | The
Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien
|
I finished reading The Hobbit with my 4-year-old today, and I'm honestly sad that we're already through the book. What with the epic scope and the formal writing of The Lord of the Rings, it's easy to forget just how accessible, charming, and even funny The Hobbit really is. At its core, The Hobbit is a simple adventure story - a reluctant hero who accompanies some dwarves on a quest to recapture a dragon's gold - but as with all of Tolkien's work, it's the richness of the world that truly captures the imagination. From arrogant dragons to irritable Elven kings, from greedy relatives to goblin warriors, Tolkien creates a world that you could easily get lost in. But first and foremost, he weaves a great adventure yarn. Here's a story with underground mazes, riddle contests, capable (if a little arrogant) wizards, bizarre creatures, and so much more, and Tolkien ties it all into a compulsively enjoyable read. And, yes, as serious and epic as Rings is, The Hobbit is funnier and more enjoyable. Gandalf gets some wonderfully dry lines, the narrator is a little sarcastic, Bilbo genuinely likeable...I could go on and on. Here's all you need to know: both this 30-year-old and my 4-year-old often read more than we planned on every night, and we were both a little sad to get to the end of it today. And doesn't that really say everything about the lasting appeal and richness of this classic? |
| 1-29 | The
Reversal, by Michael Connelly
|
Connelly's newest is essentially half Mickey Haller book, half Bosch book, and the pairing makes for an interesting collaboration. The Reversal is basically a legal thriller, revolving around a death row inmate whose conviction has been overturned, and who is being retried by the state - represented by Mickey Haller, who's usually on the defense side of things. I've read a few complaints that The Reversal is too straightforward, without a lot of twists, but in many ways that's exactly what I liked about the book. Connelly's books are often like his prose - they may be workman like, and they may never bring poetic flair, but they're well-chosen and still the work of a man who knows his way around the world he's writing about, and their low-key nature does nothing to eliminate their effectiveness and their impact. As always, Bosch remains a compelling creation by Connelly, and it's nice to see Haller's world continue to expand and develop, as well as bringing these two characters closer to each other's orbits. Moreover, Connelly's books always feel like a reflection of their times, and The Reversal is no exception - this book feels very much of the moment, and lives and dies by its LA setting. The Reversal isn't my favorite Connelly - while the plot is involving and gripping, people are right when they say it's not all that twisty, and while I admire the ideas behind the ending, one can't help but feel that it's a little anticlimactic, even if that is the point. Nonetheless, I still recommend the book; I love entering Connelly's world and the moral shades of gray he explores, all while telling involving and even moving stories, and The Reversal is no different at all. Connelly's characters may be aging, and his world changing, but I hope his books keep right on coming, because even lesser ones like this are fantastic reads that really work for me. |
| 1-21 | Joyride,
by Jack Ketchum
|
Ketchum's books are never easy to recommend, per se. What Ketchum does, he does very well, but what he does is often brutal, nihilistic, and ultimately so without hope or optimism that his books are hard to take, and Joyride is no exception. Inspired by a couple of real cases, Joyride is the story of a young woman who, with the help of her lover, decides to murder her husband for the abuse he constantly doles out. What they don't know is that they are observed doing this by a young man who thinks he's found kindred spirits for the murderous thoughts inside of him, and he kidnaps them and takes them on a car ride filled with murder and violence. (The secondary piece in Joyride, a short novella called "Weed Species," is perhaps even more brutal and horrific, and revolves around a couple who preys on the weak and the devastation they leave in their path, both physically and emotionally.) As I said, there's something inherently powerful about Ketchum's work, which looks long and hard and evil and attempts to find an understanding of what drives it, and his unflinching looks at these events have a raw and brutal power that's hard to deny. But it's also so grim and hopeless that the cumulative effect can be hard to take, and in the end, there are legitimate questions about whether the books are confronting evil or reveling in it (and I don't deny those questions). All I can say is that Ketchum's books are horrific in a way that few books manage, and I keep coming back despite (or maybe because of) the unease they provoke in me. |
| 1-14 | Adverbs,
by Daniel Handler
|
You may not recognize the name Daniel Handler, but it's likely you've heard of his pseudonym, Lemony Snicket. And while Adverbs is far more for adults than younger readers, there's still that sense of playfulness and great writing that made the Snicket books so much fun to read. A series of short stories (each titled with an adverb), Adverbs is an unusual read for a number of reasons. The stories vary from the absurd to the sad, from the supernatural to the autobiographical, and yet there are elements - characters, motifs, cities, phrases - which seem to link them all. Trying to trace these links will drive you crazy, and if anything, the idea detracts from the book a little bit, because you end up so focused on tracing the links that you lose track of the stories. But once you get into Handler's rhythm, the book really starts to come together. Each story focuses on love in one form or another, ranging from lust to obsession, from platonic friendship to sexual confusion, from deep friendship to long-suffering tolerance, and when taken as a whole, the book creates a fascinating portrait of the emotion, one that rings far more true than you might think given the book's often strange tales. All of that doesn't even touch on the wonderful prose, which really sets the book apart. Handler avoids cliches and tired phrases effortlessly, and his wonderful constructions and inventive phrasing is a joy to behold on every page. I can understand why some people are turned off of Adverbs; as I've mentioned, the stories aren't all that conventional (they're probably closer to vignettes than stories, honestly), and the playfulness and interlocking nature of the tales can probably wear on people. But to me, the book was a treat; each story played with new ideas and new feelings, and there wasn't a one that didn't ring true to me on some deep emotional level. Adverbs may not be what you expect, but if you give yourself over to it, you may find yourself swept up in it in unexpected ways. |
| 1-6 | The
Disappearance, by Bentley Little
|
There's a great hook to The Disappearance - a college student's girlfriend disappears, and all records of her existence are erased along with her, leading to questions of whether she ever really was there - but unfortunately, the book itself is disappointingly conventional. If there's one thing you can almost always count on from Little, it's a willingness to push limits and create truly memorable events, be they violent, surreal, or both. But The Disappearance features none of this. Instead, Little gives us a fairly straightforward thriller about a religious cult, one that's surprisingly bland and dull. There are no real surprises, no twists, and no really memorable moments. In fact, if anything, Little doesn't even run with his own concept, leaving all sorts of details and asides frustratingly unexplained (most notably some weird moments where campus inhabitants seem to turn against our heroes...for no given reason). I don't really mind Little trying out books without the supernatural - I really loved His Father's Son, for instance - but I do mind when they're this surprisingly mediocre, uninspired, and ultimately uninvolving. There's nothing really awful about The Disappearance, but there's nothing really good about it either, and that's a letdown coming from Little; if there's one thing you could never accuse him of until now, it would be "boring". |
| 1-2 | Soft
& Others: Tales of Wonder and Dread, by F. Paul Wilson |
Wilson's first short story collection has been out of print for some time, but it's finally available on e-book, complete with author notes written in 2010 for each of the stories, as well as a few extra pieces not in the original collection. In general, Soft is probably the weakest of FPW's short story collections, but those who enjoyed the others will probably find quite a bit to enjoy here as well. The collection's biggest weakness is expressed by FPW himself, who describes one of the stories being more of a "vignette" than a short story, and I think that can be said about a lot of these, which have some neat ideas and compelling worlds, but ultimately feel a little short and underdeveloped. That being said, there's some solidly strange and compelling ones that sneak in here, like the surprisingly grisly "Cuts" and "Buckets", the entertaining and tongue-in-cheek "Memoirs of the Effster," and the unnerving AIDS-inspired "Soft". And long-time FPW readers will find some other treats in here, including one of the other Infernals from the Repairman Jack books, the origins of the Touch, and even the short story that would ultimately be the dry run for Wilson's gleefully twisted Sibs. In general, then, I'd say this one is slightly better for FPW fans than for newcomers; still, there's enough neat ideas and great moments, to say nothing of Wilson's typically great author's notes, to make this an entertaining read for all. |
| 1-1 | On
The
Anatomization of an Unknown Man (1637) by Frans Mier, by John Connolly
|
You can pick up this John Connolly short story for less than a dollar, and trust me, it's well worth the money. As the title somewhat implies, the story opens as an examination of a painting entitled On the Anatomization of an Unknown Man, which depicts a man dissecting a corpse...or does it? As the story unfolds, more and more details are brought to our attention, slowly changing the picture into something else entirely, and then the story itself begins to change as well. By its end, Connolly has created what feels like an old Edgar Allan Poe story in some ways, but he's also created a nicely unsettling little tale that has a way of staying under your skin after you're done with it. I've long argued that Connolly is one of the most talented and overlooked authors working today, and this story is a perfect example of that. With its perfect pacing and structure, I blazed through On the Anatomization... in just a few minutes, and really liked it. But the further I am from it, the more I find that it's stuck with me, leaving a creepy little cloud behind. Spend the dollar - trust me. It's well worth it. |
| 1-1 | Ur,
by Stephen King
|
There's a gag on Family Guy where Stephen King's editor asks him what his new book is about. King frantically looks around the office, sees the guy's lamp, and says "A killer lamp." The editor accuses him of not even trying anymore...and then asks when he can have it. I say all this because, in a lot of ways, Ur proves that joke to be true in a lot of ways - after all, this is a book about a Kindle with some unusual extra features that lead a man first into literary paradise, and then into far more strange and unnatural places, but it's also a good book about an unnatural Kindle, and that's part of King's gift, isn't it? If you didn't know that Ur was written for the Kindle, you'd figure it out pretty soon; there's a few sections near the start that almost read like a sales brochure. But that fades out pretty fast, and we're left with pure King: well-crafted and interesting characters stuck in an increasingly surreal situation, and filled with odd details that make you feel you're seeing the tip of a major iceberg you should never go and look at. The biggest downside of Ur is the lackluster ending, which is unusual for King; there's a lot of plot threads I kept expecting to crop back up, but instead the book just kind of...ends, and on a strangely uplifting note for King as well. Still, it's not a bad read at all, the price is great, and some scenes - I'm thinking particularly of the final "news archive" uncovered - are truly chilling. Well worth a look if you're a King fan, and if you're a newcomer, it's a great way to get started. |
| e-mail me
at |
page updated: |