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A Year in Reading: 2010 2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 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. |
| 7-21 | Wheels
Within Wheels, by F. Paul Wilson  |
Another early Wilson book, and this one is in many ways the exact inverse of Healer - it has an intriguing story and an interesting world, but characters so thin they're barely present. Wheels Within Wheels is the middle book of Wilson's very loose LaNague trilogy, so it has the advantage of a world already constructed to play around in. And its labyrinthine plotting - which involves an effort to bring down the federation, a long-dead father who may have been murdered, a strange alien world, and lots and lots of libertarian thinking - makes for an intriguing story, but it's hard to care all that much when the characters have almost no personality whatsoever. Still, it's worth remembering that this is an early work for Wilson, and you can see him trying out different ideas here and experimenting. In the end, though, it's only really interesting for fans; new readers should definitely start elsewhere. |
| 7-18 | The
Lovers, by John Connolly |
(A reread, to prepare for the new book in the series) The Charlie Parker series has always been a fascinating set of books for any number of reasons: the uneasy line between the supernatural and the real, their complex and profound take on morality as it relates to violence and justice, their terrifying and nightmarish conceptions of evil, their brilliant use of humor to relieve tension, their rich characters, and of course, Connolly's beautiful and poetic prose. But what sets The Lovers apart, perhaps, is the intensely personal nature of the story. Every Parker book, of course, is personal in some way or another, but in investigating the facts behind his father's fall from grace and subsequent suicide, The Lovers has an emotional heft that the series doesn't always show. This is Parker's book, and the pain caused by his search is palpable on every page, to say nothing of the heavy cost of his life to this point in the series. As always, Connolly spins a compelling tale, here focusing on a young pair of lovers who Parker's father shot and killed hours before his death...and perhaps before that, too. I would never recommend starting with The Lovers, but it's definitely a superb entry in a series that stands head and shoulders above any thriller writer working today. The Lovers is unsettling and powerful fare, but for those who lose themselves in Connolly's "honeycomb" world, you're in for a literary treat. |
| 7-15 | Blind
Lake, by Robert Charles Wilson  |
In an isolated town, a group of scientists, using technology they don't fully understand, observe an alien life form on a distant world. Then one day, the base is quarantined for unknown reasons, the scanners start acting strangely, and tensions start to rise. Such is the plot of another great novel from Wilson, whose thoughtful and philosophical takes on science fiction have been a great joy to me as of late. At first glance, Blind Lake doesn't seem to have the same epic scope of his usual work, with Wilson primarily focusing on the effects of the quarantine and a group of people who seem to be developing very different ideas about what to do. But Wilson has a much bigger plan, and the novel ends with some fairly incredible developments about the nature of the universe and our place in it, all while providing a very satisfying conclusion to the novel's events. I missed the epic feel of Wilson's best work (maybe The Harvest?), but it's still a gripping and enjoyable read, one all the more compelling for Wilson's depiction of a vastly alien world. |
| 7-9 | Dydeetown
World, by F. Paul Wilson  |
Of all the futuristic, "harder" sci-fi books that Wilson has written, Dydeetown Town is by far the most successful, largely because it finally emphasizes character and plot, which are Wilson's stronger points, over his interesting but somewhat shallow worlds. Mixing private eye stories with genetic engineering and Orwellian government, Dydeetown World creates an intriguing subculture out of its cast of outcasts, black marketeers, runaway clones, and violent underworld figures. And in its three short tales, Wilson ends up crafting a complicated tale that would hold its own in the mystery genre, one with some legitimately surprising payoffs and some nice twists along the way. It's no Repairman Jack, but of Wilson's future-based books, it's easily his strongest piece, and well worth reading. |
| 7-5 | Brain
Rules, by John Medina |
Brain Rules is about nothing more than the brain itself - how it works, how it stores memories, how it processes information, and more. It takes on modern research, scientific theory, and academic matters. And here's the joy of it: it takes all that intricate, complex material, and spins it into accessible, compelling material that anyone can enjoy. As a teacher, I found the book fascinating for its insights into the way the mind works, but I can't think of anyone who wouldn't find the material useful or intriguing. Medina boils down the book to 12 simple "rules," with topics ranging from memory to vision, from gender to exploration, and in doing so makes a staggering amount of information easily comprehensible and digestible. Don't let the subject matter dissuade you from this one; this is a fantastic book, one whose insights and information will benefit anyone who has to work with other people at any time in their life. Really, really fascinating stuff that has already made me think about so much that I do in a very different way. |
| 6-28 | The
Minus Man, by Lew McCreary |
It's unlikely that you've ever read anything quite like The Minus Man, a book about a serial killer that plays out more like a quietly unsettling drama than a thriller. The Minus Man is narrated by Vann Siegert, a quiet, likeable loner who carries a poisoned flask with him in his glove compartment. McCreary has created a fascinating, enigmatic character in Siegert, whose stream-of-consciousness thought processes are filled with philosophical musings, self-awareness, a damaged psyche, and yet a quiet humanity as well. This is not a plot-driven tale or a gripping thriller; rather, it's a psychological study of a deeply damaged human being, one who acts in a way he himself does not always understand, even as he finds himself driven to kill again and again. Siegert's mind is a fascinating place, and McCreary's beautiful and poetic writing gives the book an unsettling and eerie mood that lingers long after the last page is turned. There's a story here, about Siegert's stay in a small town and his relationship with his landlords and their co-workers, but that's never the book's focus; instead, we follow Vann's wanderings and musings, ranging from his childhood to his imagined interrogation by detectives who will one day capture him. The Minus Man is definitely not a book for all tastes; many will find it dull, or complain that nothing happens, or be frustrated by how oblique Vann remains, even after spending so much time in his head. But for those who are up for its subtle, strange charms, it's a quiet masterpiece of psychological drama, a beautiful piece of writing, and a quietly unnerving tale. |
| 6-23 | Blockade
Billy, by Stephen King |
Blockade Billy, for the unaware, is a pair of short novellas from King, one being the title story, the other entitled "Morality". Although it's the ostensible reason for the book, "Blockade Billy" is the weaker of the two stories, apart from being a showcase for King's facility and ease with dialogue. The story of a phenomenal yet forgotten (and repressed) baseball player, "Blockade Billy" is a pretty simple story, and while the ending reveal is pretty effective, there's still not a huge amount of meat here, even for a short tale. Still, it's well-written (the entire story is a monologue by a retired baseball player) and nicely brings to life its era. "Morality," on the other hand, is a nasty little pill, one written in a far more stripped-down style than I'm used to from King, but it's a style that gives the story all the more bite in its short time. "Morality" tells the story of a couple given the chance to make a lot of money in exchange for one immoral act, but it's far more interested in the psychological dirt kicked up in the aftermath of this incident. In the end, Blockade Billy is more for fans than newcomers, but serious King fans will be pretty pleased by this pair of tales. |
| 6-23 | The
Academy, by Bentley Little  |
Another entry in Little's "institutional horror" series, The Academy has all the social satire you've come to expect from Little, but much less of a coherent story or a logical build. As a teacher, I can't deny that I found parts of The Academy to be blackly hilarious, as a public school turned charter school becomes obsessed with grades, discipline, and image to a disturbing degree. And, as always, Little has a knack for oddly unsettling images and scenes that should be hilarious and yet are not. The problem with The Academy, though, comes in some uneven building. Far from his usual nicely building tension and slowly cranked screws, The Academy feels uneven, coming in bursts and never quite feeling like an organic build in horror in any sense. What's more, Little sets up his loopholes early and obviously, leaving the end resolution pretty obvious from early on in the book. There are some great moments, but in general, this can't compare to Little's better work (and it sure doesn't help that perhaps his best book, University, is also school-based horror). |
| 6-17 | Juliet,
Naked, by Nick Hornby |
While there's no denying that Juliet, Naked hits a lot of typical ground for Hornby - relationships, adulthood versus psychological "childhood," pop culture and its influence on us - it in no way diminishes the sheer heart and soul of the book, much less its surprising complexity and ambiguity as it comes to an end. Juliet, Naked is the story of Duncan and Annie, a couple who have been together for a long time...and then they're not. How this all involves Duncan's idol, an obscure Dylan-esque musician named Tucker Crowe, and his string of failed relationships, is for the reader to discover. But the story is hardly the point here; as always, what makes Hornby's books so rich and wondrous are his complex, nuanced characters, and in Tucker, Annie, and Duncan, Hornby does some of his best work. Hornby juggles multiple points of view perfectly, creating very distinctive voices and perspectives for each character, and he allows the characters to define the story, all the way to the perfect ending, which neatly sidesteps every cliche and does something remarkable all its own. It's another fantastic book from Hornby, and it's a joy to read, but a sadness to wrap up. |
| 6-14 | The
Turnaround, by George Pelecanos |
George Pelecanos first came to my attention as one of three novelists who wrote for The Wire, and perhaps the biggest praise I can give to his novels is that they remind me of that show's rich, complex, vibrant universe. One of the best Pelecanos novels I've read to date, The Turnaround tells the story of two groups of boys, one black and one white, and their life-changing encounter one summer afternoon in the 1970s. But it's what Pelecanos does next that makes The Turnaround so impactful: rather than following up the event, he jumps 30 years down the road, as we see these men struggle with their past and their present, as Pelecanos crafts a simple yet powerful narrative about the way people deal with their personal histories and strive for redemption. There's not a character in the book who isn't heartbreaking in some way or another, and it's to Pelecanos's credit that his subtext of the difficult life of Afghan and Iraq war survivors only deepens the novel, rather than distracting from it. The Turnaround is a quick read, but it's a devastating piece of work, one that builds to an overwhelmingly touching ending worthy of what's come before. I can't recommend this novel enough; for those who enjoy the sort of socially aware drama that The Wire did so well, The Turnaround is essential reading. |
| 6-12 | Healer,
by F. Paul Wilson |
Wilson starts Healer with a great idea: a man accidentally becomes immortal and somewhat superhuman, and the book follows him through the upheavals of a future society. This sounds like great stuff, and it is...in bursts. Unfortunately, what we get is a couple of short interludes from Dalt's life loosely strung together into a story that doesn't really hold together all that well. Dalt is a fascinating character, and when Wilson lets him be by himself (more or less - you'll understand when you read it), the book really comes to life. Unfortunately, in a lot of other sections, it's either preachy and didactic or shallow and simplistic, most notably in a big actiony climax that doesn't really fit with the rest of the book. There's some interesting ideas batting around in here, but there's little sign of the Wilson who would create so many great books later in his career; this definitely feels like the first draft of what could have been a much bigger and better book. |
| 6-12 | The
Harvest, by Robert Charles Wilson |
I've come to love Robert Charles Wilson's books for their complex and thought-provoking conceits; even though almost each one to date has had a whimper of a third act, Wilson's ideas provoke meditations on faith, humanity's place in the cosmos, the nature of the universe, all while creating rich and intriguing characters. So it's a joy to finally find a Wilson book with a great conclusion, one that both expands the themes of the book and yet doesn't feel like an anticlimax. The Harvest creates a world where humanity is offered a choice: live forever but cease to be human, or remain human but face eventual (natural) death. In a neat choice, Wilson follows those who choose to remain, and the result grapples with themes no less epic than religion, the nature of God, and what it means to be human. Simultaneously, he creates a quietly apocalyptic novel, one that builds naturally to a climax that seems completely natural and subtly beautiful. This is what great science fiction is all about, and I can't recommend this enough to anyone up for some challenging ideas wrapped in a deceptively simple science fiction novel. |
| 6-10 | The
Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, by Stieg Larsson |
After some lukewarm reactions, I was a little wary of picking up Hornet's Nest. With Larsson dying three books into his ten book series, would there be any sense of closure? Given the ending of The Girl Who Played with Fire, exactly how much new could he pull off here? And yet, I found Hornet's Nest to be a pretty satisfying conclusion to what ended up being a trilogy, even as it left a lot of tantalizing threads dangling behind. As you might expect (and if you haven't read Fire, you may want to stop reading here), Hornet's Nest picks up immediately after the end of the previous book, with doctors desperately trying to save Salander's life, Blomkvist trying to save her reputation, and Zalachenko trying to end both. Hornet's Nest sadly leaves Salander largely on the sidelines, which makes total narrative sense while still remaining frustrating, especially knowing that there are no more books to come. Once you get used to that, though, Hornet's Nest provides a nice capper to the events of the previous two books, dealing with Salander's past in a more explicit and open way, with groups frantically trying to either expose the truth or bury it deeply. It all builds to a pretty great courtroom finale, followed by a bit of an "epilogue" quite satisfying both from a story and a character perspective. Yes, there are things I regret about it, but I think given Larsson's surprise death, it's a more than satisfactory conclusion to the series, especially the nicely done final few pages. I'm sad that we'll never get more Salander tales, but I definitely enjoyed the ones we got, and Hornet's Nest is a good note to go out on. |
| 6-1 | Youth
in Revolt: The Journals of Nick Twisp, by C.D. Payne |
Almost every review of Youth in Revolt I've found mentions Catcher in the Rye, and I guess that makes sense - is there a more quintessential story about a young man rebelling against society? But to me, the more obvious comparison is A Confederacy of Dunces, and while Youth in Revolt can't quite live up to Toole's amazing work, it's still pretty hilarious. Like Dunces, Youth revolves around an arrogant, pretentious hero driven into the world by what he perceives to be the selfish and cruel actions of others, but while Ignatius found himself desperate to make money, Nick Twisp is in a far more hormonal quest: to get laid, specifically by the hyper-verbal Sheemi Saunders, the intellectual and social goddess Nick falls in love (lust?) with. What follows is almost 500 pages of insanity that's awfully hard to describe; suffice to say, the book's incidents range from a massive fire that burns down a large neighborhood to a lengthy dalliance with cross-dressing, to say nothing of car theft, mail fraud, an unlikely product idea, crazed stalker ex-lovers, sedative slipping, and an oddly undead dog, all narrated by the irritating but hilarious (in spite of himself) Nick Twisp. Your tolerance for the book will probably revolve around your ability to get past Twisp's selfish, self-centered nature and Payne's gleefully pretentious characters, but if you can do that, Youth in Revolt is pretty hilarious reading. I probably would have absolutely loved it had I read it earlier in life, but even now it's a fun piece of pitch-black comedy. |
| 5-23 | The
Ladies of Grace Adieu and Other Stories, by Susanna Clarke |
Ladies of Grace Adieu can't help but feel a little light compared to Clarke's first book, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell - after all, when you go from an 800+ page novel to a slight collection of very short stories, you can't help but feel some of the loss of scope and that epic feeling. That being said, Clarke's imagination is no less on display here, whether it's the tale of a bitter deposed queen using embroidery to try to get at her foes or a small village in desperate need of a bridge. There's still a sense of this wondrous alternate world where faeries and magic coexist with men, and anything is possible. And yet, in cutting down her massive tapestry to tiny cloths, Clarke doesn't quite succeed as well as she did with her novel. The stories are fun diversions, but ultimately feel a little weightless, especially given that most are presented as folktales with little "reality" to anchor ourself in. All of that being said, it's still a fun read, and Clarke's writing ability still shines through, even in short pieces; it's just like a collection of DVD extras attached to one of your favorite movies. Fun, but inessential unless you're a big fan of Clarke's. Let's hope the next novel is in the works. |
| 5-13 | The
Crime Writer, by Gregg Hurwitz |
The Crime Writer starts with an absolutely great premise: a crime writer awakens from brain surgery, where a tumor has been removed from his head - along with his memories of how exactly he came to be standing over his ex-fiancee's dead body with a knife in his hand. And, in its best moments, the book lives up to that premise, whether it's the writer's discomfort of grappling with the possibility of his own guilt, or the way Hurwitz uses the book as a meta-meditation on the way crime fiction influences the real world and back again. The problem, though, is that these moments of brilliance are just that - moments. For far too much of its length, the book meanders along without a lot of focus, drifting from character to character without apparent motive or logic, and without enough depth given to the characters to make them truly interesting. Even the murder itself often seems to be forgotten about for long periods, and the ultimate reveal of the killer plays like a wasted opportunity, a moment that should have been moving and morally complex but just feels inert. Ultimately, The Crime Writer isn't out-and-out bad - it has too many well-written scenes, too much ambition, too many good moments - but it's far from successful, and in the end it feels like a waste of a great concept and story. |
| 4-30 | Horns,
by Joe Hill |
Iggy is an outcast. Everyone in town blames him for the brutal murder of his ex-girlfriend, a crime for which he was never convicted, and he lives as a hated pariah with no friends and a resentful family. Then, one night, Iggy gets drunk, does some horrible things...and wakes up with horns. What happens from there is a fantastic mix of pitch-black comedy, painful drama, and gripping tale of a man finding a darker purpose to his life. As Iggy embraces his inner devil, Hill juggles elements of horror, suspense, thriller, revenge tale, and supernatural drama, and does so in a way that would make you think he's been writing novels for decades, not that this is his second book. Horns gets a lot of mileage out of Iggy's evolution into the little devil on all of our shoulders, but what makes the book so fantastic is the way that Hill uses it to explore the darkness at each of our cores, the deep secrets we keep from the world and even ourselves. The whole thing ends a little too abruptly and neatly, to be sure, and there's no denying that the ending doesn't come close to matching the promise of the book's first two-thirds, but at the same time, the slight letdown doesn't come close to undoing how great the book as a whole is. Iggy is a compelling character, but the most compelling character is the world Hill creates and his keen grip on humanity and what it means to be human. A brilliant piece of supernatural drama that wears its horror and thriller elements proudly. |
| 4-24 | Darwinia,
by Robert Charles Wilson |
A fascinating piece of science-fiction that constantly defies expectations. In 1912, the continent of Europe vanishes, replaced by a massive and oddly alien wilderness, an event which changes human history - no World War I, and so on. What follows from there is equal parts heavy sci-fi, Philip K. Dick reality bending, thoughtful character study, metaphysical headiness, and Jules Verne adventure novel, and it all works like gangbusters. As always, Wilson creates a massive cast of characters, but watching them deal with the machinations of the plot is compelling stuff and even profoundly moving as the book develops into something wholly different from what you might expect. Wilson has a tendency to stumble at his books' ends and deliver anticlimaxes, and when I had 15 pages to go and the climax was yet to start, I had a feeling I was in for another one. And yet, while that's true from an action perspective, from a character perspective, the book ends perfectly. Darwinia kept me involved on every page, and the complex storyline was completely fascinating to me, grappling with its implications on everything from day-to-day life to philosophical notions about life and duty. |
| 4-12 | Maps
and Legends, by Michael Chabon |
After struggling to get into a fairly heavy read, I needed something a little lighter. Jumping to a collection of essays about Jewish history, family dynamics, storytelling, and writing hardly seems like a step in that direction, but that doesn't take into account Chabon's wonderful writing and enthusiastic tone that permeates the book. The general theme of the book is about his relationship with storytelling, ranging from appreciation (of works such as His Dark Materials, The Road, and classic comic books) to analysis (the final essay, which dissects the thin line between lies and truth) to memoir (Chabon's essay on how maps began his love affair with stories is absolutely wondrous and moving), and all are written with passion and excitement. Chabon never talks down to his audience, tossing in esoteric references and complex diction, but he's very aware of himself and never takes himself too seriously, having a blast with the material and keeping the tone conversational and accessible. With each new book, Chabon moves up my list of favorite authors, and these essays not only give a window into his mind, past, and influences, but explore ideas and new worlds in ways I never thought of before. I absolutely loved the book, if you can't tell, and it just made me want to find more Chabon to read. |
| 4-11 | The
Mist (audio play)  |
I don't usually listen to a lot of audio books, but after the outstanding screen adaptation, I was eager to check out the audio version of "The Mist," one of Stephen King's most unsettling and disturbing stories. What made the audio version so famous was the "3-D Sound," as the crew adapted the story to an audio drama and filmed it with sound that "immersed you in the story." What that means, apparently, is that dialogue is often impossible to hear, sound effects overshadow conversation, and there's a lot of usage of stereo sound. None of that would be a major problem if the production was good; unfortunately, it's a complete disaster. The voice actors all run together, resulting an absolute inability to tell most characters apart; even worse, some that do stand out, like the young boy who plays a critical role in the story, underplays his part to the point of boredom. But it's the script that really kills the production. In condensing the story, the writer removes all characterization and complexity to the roles, resulting in a bunch of voices with no depth fighting against each other. Add to that the ridiculous effort to describe monsters as they attack (descriptions that end up sounding like Will Ferrell's graphic description of his injuries during Austin Powers) and the ludicrous cramming in of brand names to the point of absurdity (my favorite: as a monster attacks and knocks over a shelf, a panicked character yells "There's Prego and Ragu Spaghetti Sauces everywhere!") and you end up with something far more irritating than interesting. A complete letdown - it's obviously made with the gimmick in mind, but it forgot about every other part of the tale in the telling. |
| 4-2 | Jack:
Secret Circles, by F. Paul Wilson |
The second YA Jack book manages to leave behind a lot of the "wacky 80s" stuff that weighed down the first book, and creates a plot that's got a larger scope and begins to build something massive out of the YA series. There's some nice character stuff here, most notably involving a plotline about the family of one of Jack's friends and what Jack sees the father doing, which comes to a nicely complex and morally dubious conclusion. Still, neither of the YA books have come close to even the weakest "standard" Jack book, and there comes a point where Wilson feels like he's trying so hard to tie everything into the Adversary Cycle that you wonder if Jack ever existed before the series. Still, it's a lot of fun and a good way to kill a few hours, and I can't deny that Wilson has made a nice addendum to his series so far; it just can't compare with the heights he's already achieved, and there comes a point where I'd like to see more Jack cut loose from the constraints of his saga. |
| 3-30 | Jack:
Secret Histories, by F. Paul Wilson |
I reread Secret Histories to refresh my memory before picking up Secret Circles, and I kind of wish I hadn't. I remember liking the book a lot, but a second read made me a lot more aware of some of the flaws. Wilson shoehorns in way too many "Man, weren't those 80s wacky!" kind of jokes, from people rolling their eyes about needing more than 64k of RAM to the crazy concept of a network that would allow you to login and check information, and the sheer amount of forced dramatic irony gets really old, really quickly. That being said, the central story - which involves young Jack investigating a mysterious series of deaths and beginning to realize his unusual talents - is really enjoyable, and it's nice to see Wilson tackle Jack's backstory and tie it in nicely to the ongoing arc. I'm hoping that the first book has worked most of the 80s jokes out of the way, though, and that the second book doesn't feel the need to be as clever as this one thinks it is. |
| 3-28 | I cannot imagine how someone could read What is the What and not be profoundly affected and moved by the tale it has to tell. Despite being labeled as a novel. What is the What is nonfiction, telling the tale of Valentino Achak Deng, a Sudanese man who fled his village as the civil war broke out in his country (Eggers and Deng labeled it a novel due to Eggers' recreation of conversations that Deng could not specifically remember). Eggers takes Deng's tale - his youth, his life in the village, his trek across the country, his time in refugee camps, his time in America - and crafts it into a beautiful work that conveys the horrors of the time not only on a massive scale but a personal one, letting us into Deng's world and forcing us to experience the events through the eyes of a young boy. There's no denying that What is the What can be a difficult read, but Deng and Eggers fill the tale with a joy for life and a sense of hope (to say nothing of a quiet sense of humor), even in the worst darkness, that permeates the novel. The end result is a book that truly opens a reader's eyes to the experiences of the Lost Boys and many of the Darfur inhabitants, immersing us in a world many of us know little about - from Sudan to Kenya and even to the immigrant experience in America - and making it an experience we will be unable to leave behind. It is one of the most powerful books I have ever read, and while it is not an easy book, it is an important one, one that I would say every person owes it to themselves to read. |
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| 3-10 | She
Wakes, by Jack Ketchum |
She Wakes is unique among the Jack Ketchum books that I've read in that it's his first genuine supernatural horror novel. Typically, Ketchum's horror is more human, based in the depravity and violence people can show to each other, whereas She Wakes becomes a complicated tell involving Greek mythology and a vengeful deity. I was a little curious to see how Ketchum would fare outside of his typical material, and it turns out that he handles it all pretty nicely...once he gets to the point. There's a lot of setup in She Wakes, and without some of the realizations and details you get in the second half of the book, some of the early action just seems petty and cruel, to say nothing of borderline misogyny. The book's second half allows you to look a little differently at some of the characters, but you can't help but wonder if some of the book could have been trimmed without losing much of the impact. That being said, I've always argued that Ketchum succeeds because of his strong willingness to focus on characterization, and She Wakes has lots of it; unfortunately, when the horror is more supernatural, that characterization seems to matter less and ultimately feels a little discarded by the end. I feel as though I'm doing nothing but complaining, when in fact, I enjoyed the book quite a book; the absolute mayhem that breaks out in the book's closing half is superb, with a true sense of terror and creepiness that testifies to Ketchum's talent. And that says nothing of the ending, which Bentley Little should take some notes on to see how to handle his (often similar but weaker) climaxes. It's not typical Ketchum, and it's not his best, but it's still a damn good horror novel, and I'm all about finding those. |
| 3-6 | The
Chronoliths, by Robert Charles Wilson |
The Chronoliths boasts an absolutely killer hook. One day, massive monuments begin to appear on Earth, demolishing everything near them as they materializes. The monuments are commemorating military victories across the world by someone or something named Kuin...twenty years in the future. From that simple concept, Robert Charles Wilson spins an absolutely electrifying piece of science fiction that plays not only with the suspense of that impending deadline, but also with the social, political, and cultural changes such appearances would have on the planet. Much like his masterful Spin, The Chronoliths is as fascinating for the world it creates and the social questions it raises as for its solid, fascinating idea, and it's a testament to Wilson's skill that he juggles the science and the culture expertly. There's no way of denying some frustration with the ending of the book; even given the intentionally anticlimactic nature of the ending, one can't help but wish that Wilson had given the final chapters more time to play out - there's easily enough material for a hundred more pages, if not a full second book, yet all we get is five measly pages. Even with that complaint, though, I can't be anything less than enthusiastic about the book - with its complex ideas, intriguing science, intelligent exploration of social and moral issues, and interesting storyline, it's a spectacularly good read. Just be prepared for a little bit of a letdown at the end. |
| 3-6 | Then
We Came to the End, by Joshua Ferris |
There are a lot of comparisons to Catch-22 in the reviews for Then We Came to the End, and they're understandable, given the book's sprawling cast and the meandering, episodic, time-jumping narrative. And yet, for all the quiet humor, the Heller book I found myself remembering again and again was Something Happened, Heller's quietly desperate and melancholy book about office life in the middle class. Told in a first-person plural style that emphasizes the way we interact with our offices, Then We Came to the End tells the story of a Chicago ad agency slowly falling apart in the wake of the burst dot-com bubble. Is it funny? Undoubtedly - from people conversing only in Godfather quotes to workers who keep working long after they've been laid off, Ferris finds that mundane, everyday humor that pervades the work lives of us all. But in the end, it's not the humor that makes Ferris's book so successful; it's the undercurrent of desperation, loneliness, and isolation that truly makes the book soar, taking what could have been just another Dilbert or The Office and making it into a wonderful study of modern life. With characters facing death, mid-life crises, and all sorts of office melodrama, Ferris somehow manages to walk the thin line between comedy and tragedy, and the result is a minor miracle - a wonderful book whose characters and world are so rich and vibrant that the ending of the book made me sad to leave it all behind, all the way to the perfect last line. |
| 2-28 | Nine
Dragons, by Michael Connelly |
When I first finished Nine Dragons, I genuinely felt it was one of Connelly's best books in a long time, and certainly among the top tier Harry Bosch books written to date. The further I get from the book, the more I'm willing to concede it's got some flaws, among them some pretty gaping plot holes and unlikely coincidences (to say nothing of my usual grumble with Connelly, his tin ear for dialogue). All of that being said, I'm still more than willing to put this in that top tier if only for the fascinating exploration of Bosch you get by means of some surprising plot developments in this one. Much like any other Bosch book, it starts with a murder, this one the possibly gang-related killing of a Chinese convenience store owner who Bosch feels a connection with. From then, though, the plot spirals in some astonishing directions (and I urge you not to read the book jacket - there's a major development 150 pages in that's much better as a surprise) and takes Bosch to some unexpected places, emotionally speaking. Second only to LA, Bosch has always been Connelly's finest creation, and it's a joy to see him forced into new directions and go to some grim extremes. If you're all about the mystery plotlines, this one may leave you a little frustrated and rolling your eyes, but if you're more interested in Bosch and his character, this one should be right up your alley. |
| 2-21 | A
Dark Matter, by Peter Straub |
Peter Straub's newest book revolves around a single incident: in the 1960s, a group of high school students and a slick new-age guru attempted a ritual which left one boy dead and everyone involved completely changed forever. Set in the present day, the book follows the members all the years later as they all explain the events as they saw them that day, each time giving the reader more understanding of what exactly may have happened. For most of the pages, A Dark Matter is a compelling, haunting read, concerning itself with not only that one fateful day but also guilt, our past and the way it shapes us, the reconnection of old friends, and nothing less than evil itself. There are moments here of completely unreal horror, and moments of compelling personal drama, to say nothing of fascinating personal interaction. And yet, as the book comes to an end, there's a real sense of "...and?" to it all. For all the discussion of the central event, it never feels worthy of all this explanation, never as massive as it's first made out to be. And while some of the final revelations are beautifully done and powerfully told, they're not as profound or groundbreaking as they're made out to be. It's still a fascinating read, and I can't deny that I enjoyed it a lot; by the same token, I feel like A Dark Matter would have been more successful if it was either longer and filled with more depth or else cut down to the original novella that Straub planned. As it is, it's good, but falls short of being as good as I hoped. |
| 2-14 | The
Disappearing Body, by David Grand |
I've been wanting to read The Disappearing Body for a long time, even if I have no recollection of why I was originally interested or who turned me onto the book, and finishing it doesn't really illuminate either of those questions. Essentially an intricate and complex piece of Philip Marlowe-style detective fiction, The Disappearing Body juggles a body that disappears (and then reappears), a labor union ready to blow up a plant, a healthy drug-smuggling operation, a number of suicides, a recently released prisoner, and a number of people struggling to come to terms with their pasts, all while a couple of figures seem to be manipulating events for reasons that only gradually become clear. It's all a satisfying (if extremely convoluted) tale, one that manages to not only weave its numerous threads but also make characters whose pain, regret, and remorse are palpable. In the end, though, while I liked the book just fine, there's little that really makes The Disappearing Body a true knockout. It's intriguing and rich, but I'm not sure I get why it's got the cult reputation it does. |
| 2-3 | The
Sandman Volume 10: The Wake, by Neil Gaiman |
The story of The Sandman essentially ended in The Kindly Ones, so why is there another volume? Because without it, we would miss out on a quietly devastating and powerful epilogue to the tale, in which Gaiman, his characters, and his readers all say farewell to the series. The Wake is exactly what its title suggests: a funeral service and a farewell, combined with a few final stories tied deeply into the theme of ending and the past. Little happens of note; characters reminisce, drink, give speeches, and go their separate ways. The remarkably long-lived Hob comments on the verisimilitude (or lack thereof) of Renaissance Festivals; a former Chinese emperor meets Morpheus while adrift in time; and, in the series's final tale, one William Shakespeare writes a final poem to fulfill a bargain made with Dream. All combined, they add up to one of the shortest collections, and yet somehow it becomes one of the most powerful. After so many pages and stories involving the characters, seeing them change, grieve, cope, and react is surprisingly powerful and moving, none more so than Matthew, Dream's raven. Is it a good entry point to the series? Definitely not. But for those who have read the entire saga - and I cannot think of anyone who should not - The Wake is a somber, emotional conclusion to the tale, one worthy of the saga that preceded it. Take this as my endorsement: it was with more than a little bit of sadness that I turned the last page and realized I was at the official end of it all. |
| 2-3 | The
Sandman Volume 9: The Kindly Ones, by Neil Gaiman |
The thickest and in some ways most challenging Sandman collection, The Kindly Ones represents nothing less than Gaiman's efforts to wrap up every single storyline from the entire Sandman saga. Here's the incredible thing: he succeeds, all while creating one of the most poignant and quietly devastating arcs of the series. Anyone who's read the series to this point has to suspect what's coming, but even those who don't have to be aware of the elegiac, mournful tone to the whole collection. As Morpheus makes the rounds, greeting characters so familiar by now that we almost view them as friends, we can't help but know that we are coming to the end of things. Even so, as that end starts to come, and it turns out far more destructively than we might have imagined, we can't help but feel each death and assault stack up, all leading up to one final decision that leaves the reader a little stunned. I've been taking my time through this volume, parsing it more than normal; given how intricately Gaiman has structured it, how many allusions and references there are to Greek tragedy here, I'm almost wanting to go through it again. It would definitely merit it, but then again, so would every volume of this incredible series. |
| 2-1 | The
Sandman Volume 8: World's End, by Neil Gaiman |
In which Gaiman takes a breath before entering the inevitable final act of The Sandman. At first glance, World's End is another series of short stories, a la Dream Country and Fables and Reflections, albeit one with a stronger framework to it that reminded this English major of Canterbury Tales. But there's more going on here than meets the eye, and the final chapter culminates in an astonishing visual image that clearly foreshadows what's to come. Still, the stories are the main attraction here, and this collection is every bit the equal of Dream Country, with a stronger focus this time on the way that our reality often hides something far stranger underneath. From the dreams of cities to an ocean encounter (depicted here in a two-page spread that literally made me gasp a little) to a journey through the Necropolis, Gaiman's wondrous imagination is as alive here as ever. If there's a downside to World's End, it's the realization that I'm almost finished with this incredible series. |
| 1-29 | The
Sandman Volume 7: Brief Lives, by Neil Gaiman |
I commented when I read Fables and Reflections that a good deal of it felt like setup for something later to come. Turns out, I was right...but did the payoff ever merit the time it took. Brief Lives is in many ways the simplest Sandman story to date, revolving around Dream and Delirium's quest to find their brother Destruction, who abandoned his duties many centuries ago. And yet, despite the simplicity of the storyline, Brief Lives has the highest emotional impact of any volume debate. It's clearly the most "personal" story, revolving around the family life of the Endless, but it takes on so much more - our fear of change, our desire to find purpose in our lives, our belief in the supernatural and gods, our sense of duty to those we love. And it does so elegantly, expanding the characters in directions we did not foresee and making us all the more aware of the slow changes that the series has wrought so far. It's clear that the final chapter of Brief Lives will have ramifications far beyond the end of the book, but given the emotional devastation it has already wrought, it's clear that the series has hit a point of no return. In a series so filled with magnificence, Brief Lives may be the best volume of them all - and that's saying quite a bit. |
| 1-29 | The
Sandman |
Another collection of short stories in The Sandman universe, and while the results aren't as consistently strong as those in Dream Country, the high points are incredibly high. The two best stories bookend the novel. After a short introductory piece, "Three Septembers and a January" opens the novel, detailing the life of the only Emperor of America, with Gaiman crafting what could be a silly tale into something far more poignant and affecting - rather than dismissing Norton as a lunatic, Gaiman examines him as a tragic hero, and the result is a powerful piece. And the book finishes up with the astonishingly well-drawn "Ramadan," whose visual style is a complete homage to classic "Arabian Nights"-style artwork. "Ramadan" focuses on an Arabian prince looking out at his kingdom of wonders and a decision he must make, but it's in the final pages that the story takes on new and more profound ramifications. The rest of the tales - ranging in period from Ancient Rome to the French Revolution - are decent enough, but feel a little bit more like groundwork for later tales to come, most notably in telling the tale of Orpheus, Dream's estranged son. They're not bad, but they pale in comparison to the two aforementioned tales, which are absolute gems. |
| 1-27 | The
Sandman Volume 5: A Game of You, by Neil Gaiman |
I can't help but think of The Maxx as I read A Game of You - after all, both entail the stories of young women pulled into their fantasy world and the play between the two, complete with heroes, princess fantasies, and a desire to be something else, something more. Of course, whereas The Maxx's fantasy world was a more direct window into Julie's psyche, Gaiman's dream world is infinitely more flexible and less predictable, leading to a far stranger and more threatening fantasy - to say nothing of the way that reality itself is far less stable than we might expect (and our first glimpse of that is an absolutely stellar reveal). And while The Maxx focused on feminism and its corresponding view of the world, A Game of You becomes concerned more fundamentally with identity - gender identity, yes, but also the nature of who we really are and who we allow ourselves to be. Of all the Sandman volumes I've read so far, A Game of You is probably the most complex and the one most open to interpretation, and like the best literature, the questions it inspires are as fascinating, if not more so, than definite answers. Gaiman spins a two-tiered tale, but eschews the standard interplay between a princess's quest to save her land and her real-life world in favor of something far more complex - a universe more interested in chromosomes than names, dead faces that tell jokes, and more. Despite Morpheus's relatively small part in the story, don't neglect this one; it's one of the richest and most satisfying chapters yet. |
| 1-27 | The
Sandman Volume 4: Seasons of Mists, by Neil Gaiman |
A return to the epic storytelling and mythology of the series, Season of Mists takes on nothing less than sin, redemption - both personal and religious - and the battle between good and evil. To discuss too much of the plot would ruin some of the rich surprises to come, but Gaiman's usual inventiveness is on full display here, with a gleefully funny and fascinating scene involving intrigue and lobbying by any number of demons and demigods, and a ghost story set in a boys school that's not really like any haunted house tale you've ever read. But in the midst of his sweeping and epic scope, Gaiman never neglects the smaller and more intimate touches, and scenes involving nothing more than an unlikely character commenting on a sunset or an unexpected birth revealing unexpected depths and complexities to Gaiman's creations. It's become apparent, 2/5 of the way through the series, that Gaiman has constructed something akin to a new cosmology and mythology here, and while it's wonderful to get lost in his worlds, it's the surprisingly human characters that keep us enthralled. |
| 1-26 | The
Sandman Volume 3: Dream Country, by Neil Gaiman |
Taking a break after the sweeping grandeur of The Doll's House, Gaiman creates what is essentially a short story collection, allowing him to play with different ideas and themes within the boundaries of his intricate mythology. As with any short story collection, some of the four stand out more than others, but it's rare to find a collection where none of the pieces truly misfire. From the dreams of cats to a performance of Midsummer Night's Dream with a very unusual audience, from a superhero ruminating on the unforeseen horrors of immortality to an author in desperate need of a muse, Gaiman lets Morpheus lurk in the background of these stories (or, in one case, remain entirely absent), creating wholly new worlds and plots to dwell in. The results are fascinating, with Gaiman's usual mix of dark humor and true pathos, and even result in profound discussions about the nature of dreams, reality, and death itself. There's no doubt that they get dismissed as minor pieces in the overall story, but in some ways, they're most revealing of Gaiman's strengths as a writer. |
| 1-26 | The
Sandman Volume 2: The Doll's House, by Neil Gaiman |
Having established the basis for his world in Preludes and Nocturnes, Gaiman starts to stretch his wings a little, introducing us to more inhabitants of Morpheus's strange world, including some of his siblings, his servants (of a sort), and waking nightmares like The Corinthian. Gaiman ties it all together in a fascinating arc involving a young girl descended from a minor character in Preludes who is on a search for her missing brother, himself a victim of Morpheus's escaped nightmares. If there's a flaw in The Doll's House, it's certainly not in the scope or the imagination on display. Gaiman effortlessly conjures nightmares and dreams, spinning together styles and ideas in such a way to dazzle the reader all while illuminating the psyches of his characters. And it's not in his willingness to take chances. The middle chapter of The Doll's House, entitled "Men of Good Fortune," leaves behind the main story for a short tale about Morpheus's recurring meetings with a man who chooses not to die - and the gamble pays off magnificently, creating the best and most compelling moments of the book. To be fair, it's not like there aren't other standouts - where else can you read about a serial killer convention that manages to be so hilarious and so frightening all at once? No, if there's a flaw, it's some gaps and difficulties with the specifics of the plot, but even the characters seem a little bewildered...and in dreams, isn't that okay? |
| 1-25 | The
Sandman Volume 1: Preludes and Nocturnes, by Neil Gaiman |
Both Gaiman and his editor readily admit that these first issues of The Sandman are more conventional than the later run of the series, and it's not a comment I disagree with. By the same token, I think both underplay the pleasures to be had from this volume, in which Gaiman takes his first steps with the character and begins to establish a rich and complex cosmology that I can't wait to see develop. Even in the midst of a story about a supervillain who has one of Sandman's gems, Gaiman spins a unique and horrific tale called "24 Hours," in which a group of people slowly deteriorate into madness and violence. Still, nothing quite prepares you for the collection's final tale, "The Sound of Her Wings," which introduces Death and provides not only a sense of where the series will be going, but also the distanced, fascinating way it regards humanity. I haven't read much of what's to come, and I don't doubt that this first volume may not be as groundbreaking as the later ones, but that in no way diminishes the inventiveness and rich world on display here. |
| 1-24 | The
Gates, by John Connolly |
Connolly himself describes The Gates as a "adult's novel written for children," but I have to say that I enjoyed the book every bit as much as any kid I know would, if not more. Much lighter in tone than Connolly's previous YA foray, The Book of Lost Things, The Gates revolves around a young boy named Samuel Johnson who spies his neighbors undergoing a ritual to open the gates of Hell...and succeeding. Despite the horror novel feel of the plot, The Gates is definitely a kids book, with a tone that feels inspired by Adams or Pratchett, but a story that feels somewhere between Gaiman and Barker's The Thief of Always. As always with a Connolly book, one of the best aspects of the book is the writing, and while the simpler prose eliminates some of Connolly's poetic asides, the sheer inventiveness of it all - from the namedropped demons of bad punctuation to the overwhelming menagerie of creatures from horrific to pathetic - is a complete joy. What's more, it's clear that Connolly is having a blast with this, and the joy is infectious; I laughed out loud several times, and just loved every page of it. Dabbling in everything from quantum theory to theology, all while telling a great story, The Gates is a great read, and definitely not just for kids. |
| 1-18 | Girl
in Landscape, by Jonathan Lethem |
For much of the first half of his career, Jonathan Lethem seemed to specialize in taking established genres and spinning them into something else entirely - for instance, read Gun, With Occasional Music and Motherless Brooklyn for two detective stories that hit all the necessary notes but still create something wholly unique. So it's not surprising to find that this book, written immediately before Motherless Brooklyn, does a similar thing, here taking the Western and spinning it into a sci-fi coming of age story with nods to The Searchers. As always, what Lethem does best is create complex characters, and the titular girl, Pella, is one of his most fascinating - all the more so because Lethem, a grown man, so vividly creates this portrait of a young girl on the cusp of womanhood. But more than that, Lethem reminds us what it must have been like to have settled the West and found ourselves in an utterly unfamiliar world, one populated with people we struggled to understand. In creating the planet of the Archbuilders, Lethem toys with expansionism, racial struggles, and the fear of the unknown, all while never neglecting the complex and flawed characters of his little outpost. I wouldn't recommend it as the best work Lethem's put out, but it's definitely in the upper tier; even with its short length, it's lingered with me and left me thinking about it for some time. |
| 1-11 | Last
Days, by Brian Evenson |
How do you begin to describe Last Days? Ostensibly, it's a detective novel about a private eye named Kline, who is just beginning to recover from the violent loss of his hand when he is pulled into a bizarre investigation at the compound of a unique religious cult. But while Last Days plays with a lot of detective story tropes, it's as much visceral body horror and pitch-black satire of religious fanaticism as noir - imagine The Maltese Falcon crossed with The Ruling Class as directed by David Cronenberg, and you approach the uniqueness of what Evenson's created here. The book will inspire any number of reactions from a reader - there are parts of fascinating depth, and some parts that play as some surreal twisted joke that only the sickest will laugh at, while others are pure farce - and that says nothing of the violence and horror that permeate the book's pages. Last Days moves like an absolute rocket, and if you think things are strange in the first half, just wait until Paul shows up. Or, you could wait until the cleavers start coming back out. To know too much is to ruin the fun, which is why I beg you to avoid Peter Straub's introduction until after you finish the book - it's a fascinating discussion, but it discusses the entire story, including the ending. So let me just say this about how good Last Days is: I barrelled through it last night, went to bed, woke up this morning, and restarted it. It's that good, and I can't wait to get my hands on more of Evenson's work. |
| 1-10 | His
Father's Son, by Bentley Little |
I'm always a little excited when Little gets away from his "institutional" horror books (University, The Policy, etc.) and writes something different, because frequently those turn out to be his best books (The Ignored, Dispatch, The House). And for most of its length, His Father's Son is an absolutely compelling read. In telling the story of a young man who hears a confession of murder from his dying father, Little creates a fascinating character who finds struggling to make peace with his past and his relationship with his parents. The story spirals, as you would expect from Little, into madness and bloodshed, but Little eschews his usual supernatural horror and instead keeps His Father's Son deeply into the realm of the real. It all builds up to a couple of major revelations at the end that manage to seem both shocking and entirely expected, and cast the events of the book in a massively different light. And then...the book just sort of ends. It's not that there was more story to tell - Little wraps up his threads and leaves the reader subtly unnerved by what's happened. And yet, the book feels like it's lacking a major conclusion or ending, with the reveals of the end just giving way to a "Here's what happened" epilogue. It's the one weak point of the book, which otherwise manages to be a fascinating and horrific study of a deeply confused and flawed man struggling to figure it all out. |
| 1-5 | Grace
After Midnight, by Felicia "Snoop" Pearson |
In just a short time on The Wire, Felicia Pearson created an indelible character in the form of Snoop, one of Marlo's most professional and deadly lieutenants - a character that no less than Stephen King called "perhaps the most terrifying female villain to ever appear in a television series". But, as her autobiography reveals, Pearson wasn't acting so much as playing herself. Grace After Midnight is an easy read in terms of length, but hard in almost every other way. Pearson apologizes for her actions, but in no way seeks sympathy or forgiveness for the brutality and violence in which she engaged, nor for the reprehensible way she treated so many along the way, from the shame she brought to her foster parents to beatings and even murder. Rather, she presents her story candidly and without justification, exposing readers to a truly horrific life - one that's as much a result of Pearson's choices as being dealt a truly bad hand in life. It's a painful, unforgettable read, all the more so for Pearson's quietly and honest storytelling - by the time the book finishes, Snoop has managed to tell her story and provide hope for any number of people who may be in a situation every bit as bad as her own. Much like the show that made her famous, Snoop doesn't make her redemption easy, nor does she oversell the situation - she's still a flawed young woman, one who's struggling with her life and her choices. But that honesty makes what redemption she does find all the more affecting. |
| 1-3 | Slam,
by Nick Hornby |
In which Nick Hornby returns to his strongest subject - the male psyche - and pens his best book since About a Boy. I won't deny that I was a little wary of Hornby's turning his skills to a young-adult book (or, at least, a young adult narrator), but I needn't have worried - Hornby not only writes men honestly, but remembers the teenaged mind well enough to capture it perfectly. There aren't a lot of surprises to be had in Slam - from the first page, when Sam alludes to what messed his life up, it's not hard to guess what will happen - but as always with Hornby, it's more about the journey and the remarkable ability to not only create this fascinating, fully realized, flawed character, but to make him instantly familiar and sympathetic to any man, whether we've been in the situation or not. And no one can mine humor out of a sad situation better than Hornby, who never flinches from the reality of the world, yet finds something to laugh about - even if it's ourselves - in it all. Slam is a complete treat; while there aren't many surprises (though there are a couple), Slam works primarily because of Hornby's rich and enjoyable storytelling skills. |
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