Leave It to Psmith by P.G. Wodehouse

Posted on February 26, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Let’s hear it for Psmith! Wodehouse wins again! I love this guy. He makes me laugh. His stories are lighthearted and feel-good and things always come out right in the end. This is my first non-Jeeves Wodehouse, and I loved it.

I don’t think I’m able to sum this plot up briefly, but I will say: there is a spacey Earl (whom we met the other day) with a thick-headed and scheming son, a tyrannical (but efficient!) secretary, a decidedly difficult sister, and a hard-beset brother-in-law. There is a small crowd of people trying to steal a diamond necklace, mostly independent and unaware of one another. And Psmith (the ‘p’ is silent) comes on the scene to solve the world’s problems and woo the girl – under a false name, naturally. He is a perfect Wodehouse creation: a little bit bumbling but oh so charming and well-dressed. There are several strong female characters (some portrayed more flatteringly than others) and the requisite daunting aunt. There is a troubled but eventually happy love affair. And oh, the laughs.

I was relieved to detect none of the misogyny in Leave It to Psmith that I found in my last Wodehouse read. This was as delightful as it gets. While there is hilarity and even some light slapstick, Psmith is less ridiculous than Bertie Wooster, and a little more capable. I still like the Jeeves and Wooster pairing, mind you, but Psmith is a new love. Beyond that, I should direct you to Simon’s recent discussion of the wonders of Wodehouse as he said it so well. More ice cream, please!

Rating: 6 giggles.

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Available Dark by Elizabeth Hand

Posted on February 25, 2012 by pagesofjulia

A dark, cold, bloody thriller set in Iceland’s winter, seen through a photographer’s lens.


Cassandra Neary lives hard. Between the drugs, the booze and her trauma-ridden past, she just barely stays afloat; a recent foray (in 2007’s Generation Loss) back into her former field of photography didn’t earn her much, other than a suspicion of murder that she’s eager to outrun. So when a mystery man contacts her from overseas, offering a chance to put her 30-year-dead photography skills back into action for a tidy sum, she leaves her New York City slum life without too much consideration. Correspondence from her high school boyfriend Quinn–long thought dead–pushes her along, too.

But Cass is greeted in Helsinki not only by gruesome photographs–more or less her specialty–but by gruesome murders as well, and she has to keep moving. So it’s on to Reykjavik in the heart of winter, where Cass makes her way through a world of icy cold, hard drugs, black metal, mental illness and multiple murders. A reunion with Quinn lends adrenaline and excitement, but no greater light.

Not for the weak-stomached or the easily frightened, Available Dark is a masterpiece of lovely writing and ghastly details. Elizabeth Hand, who has a personal background in the early New York punk scene, treats the finer points of Scandinavian black metal with respect. Her writing is sharp-edged and gritty, and fully realized, filled with frightening, contradictory characters and shocking edge-of-the-seat twists. Cass’s artistic perspective, as she photographs ritual killings and crime scenes, adds another layer to what might have been a straightforward thriller. Great fun, if you can hang on for the ride!

This review originally ran in the Feb. 21, 2012 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

Rating: 5 gory photographs.

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Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (audio)

Posted on February 23, 2012 by pagesofjulia

This is a very long book, and I am trying to keep this from being a very long review. In a nutshell, I did not find it the life-changing masterpiece that I hoped it might be. (This is alarmingly often true of the very big name classics, it seems. Maybe too much hype?) However, it had some redeeming features, especially early on.

I will refrain from much plot summation (to keep my review shorter!); you can find that online if you like (for example, here’s Wikipedia). But, quick plot points: Levin is in love with Kitty, the youngest daughter of a good family. He proposes and is rejected, because she is expecting a proposal from Count Vronsky. However, just then the married Anna Karenina comes to town, Vronsky is taken with her, and abandons Kitty. Now we have a sad Levin, a sad Kitty (rather ruined, in fact, with her marriage prospects suddenly bleak), and Vronsky chasing Anna. Slight spoiler: he succeeds, and they become lovers, cuckolding Karenin (her husband). There are other characters, other couples mostly, with their own marital issues. Levin is a landowner with a restless intellect; he is probably the character most actively questioning his society’s unwritten rules, debating new ways of running his land and his peasant laborers, etc. One thread of the book follows discussions of society in various forms. The real spoilers follow in white text (highlight to read) if you want to follow it through: Levin does eventually marry Kitty. Anna has Vronsky’s baby, and goes to live with him after leaving her husband, but they are relatively ostracized by the society they were accustomed too, especially Anna; she is increasingly jealous and insecure, and finally kills herself. Levin finds God. There, that’s my quick plot summary. I have left out a great deal.

I struggled with this book for one main reason: I couldn’t find a sympathetic character. I thought I had one here and there, but they failed me time and time again. Kitty & Levin both overcome obstacles; but they never move past the tragedy of Kitty’s losing Vronsky – they continue to let his shadow lean across their lives, and I got sick of that. For all their observing their own happiness, I was unconvinced. Jealousy plays a large role in their relationship. Anna and Vronsky, too, call themselves happy but the jealousy and the quarreling just went on and on; I was annoyed. I went back and forth: poor Anna, she needs her man, he took her out of her home and life and now he leaves her home alone and lonely! And then again, poor Vronsky, this woman is a total drag! It comes back to the same point: I found none of these characters particularly sympathetic, and I did not have the patience for the woe-is-me drama. Tolstoy seems to use lots of superlatives. I think this is what contributed to my feeling of high drama (rolls eyes).

On the other hand, the ideological musings and discussions Levin indulged in failed to perk up my ears, as well. I would have been interested in working through some of these theories, but I never felt that we got any concrete experimentation with them; rather, Levin thought to himself or mentioned to his gentlemanly peers, and then plodded on. I don’t know why this made me impatient, when Jurgen’s struggles and ideologies in Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle hold me so rapt, but so I found it.

I remained engaged, entertained, and concerned for the characters, and caught up in what I’m calling Tolstoy’s high drama, for a time. I would say more than half of this tome. But it dragged on too long; he lost me. I couldn’t care for that long. The characters who started off as semi-sympathetic, or potentially sympathetic, or at least interesting, dragged on into repetition and selfishness that eventually bored me; I would have found them, the story, and the writing style more interesting if he had wrapped up a little sooner. And I do not fear the chunky epic novel, either; I’m capable of enjoying books of this length when they keep me engaged.

While I’m on the subject of length, though, I wonder if the audio format was perhaps the wrong choice here. I read faster than the narrator reads aloud. It would have taken me less time to read this one in print, and maybe that would have allowed me to get through it without becoming exasperated. A reader feeling the need to rush through a book is not a particularly strong endorsement, though.

In fact I was tempted to quit. Towards the end I was very frustrated, with Anna in particular, as she descends into jealousy and insanity. I recognize the misogyny in this book (for example, see my earlier Tuesday Teaser), and perhaps it should be interpreted as a compliment to Tolstoy that it was so convincing: Anna increasingly struck me as weak and nagging. I realize the difficulty of her “position” as it is referred to, and her shortage of options. But her continued complaining rubbed me the wrong way. I wanted to stop listening to this book; but as I completed disc 27, then disc 28, of 30 (!) cds, I knew I’d come too far to turn back. I had to know how it ended – not because I cared about Anna’s fate, you see, but because I was curious to know if Tolstoy was going to finally engage or impress me, or if his finish pulled something off that I had been missing all along.

And I’m afraid he didn’t. Back to the white text here so you can avoid my spoilers (highlight to read): Anna’s suicide almost relieved me. She was suffering, and she was complaining, and I’m glad she put us both out of our misery. See? I’m sure I missed the point here, but I can only report my own reaction. And as for Levin’s finding of the faith… it happened a little bit too fast for me, although the scene with the lightning was certainly interesting. And to be fair, I’m not your ideal audience for finding-God endings, as I’m a confirmed atheist and just fine with that fact.

I regret that I wasn’t more excited by this one, especially considering the weeks it took me to get through it; but I can’t say I regret those weeks. Now I know. The real question is: is there any chance I’ll enjoy War and Peace, or should I cut my Tolstoy-losses now??

Rating: 4 fancy dresses.

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Hanging Hill by Mo Hayder

Posted on February 20, 2012 by pagesofjulia

A suspenseful, fast-paced thriller that reunites estranged sisters amidst a series of grisly events.

When a popular, beautiful local girl is found brutally murdered on a towpath in idyllic Bath, the investigation team pursues the recommendation of the forensic psychologist: search for a teenage boy, one of her peers. Naturally, Harley-riding bad-girl police detective Zoe Benedict has something else in mind. She follows a more sinister lead toward amateur porn, strip clubs and unsavory characters–and is astonished to encounter her estranged sister, Sally, the good girl, reduced by divorce to cleaning rich people’s houses to support her daughter, at the center of the case. One of Sally’s clients is a successful (and appropriately sleazy) pornographer; her daughter shares a history with the murdered girl; and her boyfriend has some inside knowledge that makes him especially afraid for Sally’s safety. A dirty secret from Zoe’s own past threatens to reveal itself, while Sally, struggling to defend her loved ones from harm, discovers new strength no one thought she possessed. And the sisters’ relationship gets a second chance.

Mo Hayder’s (Skin; Gone) tightly plotted Hanging Hill keeps the suspense taut, and the characters are realistic and multifaceted as well as (in most cases) sympathetic. Hayder delights in exposing the dark side–of domestic life, of family, of childhood and growing up–and her gritty, gruesome bits are not for the faint of heart. But there are love affairs, too, sweetly relieving the grimness. Hanging Hill is finely put together and entirely satisfying–at least until the terrifying ending, which uproots the safe feeling of resolution into which the reader was lulled.

This review originally ran in the Feb. 14, 2012 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

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Papa: A Personal Memoir by Gregory H. Hemingway

Posted on February 18, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Gregory Hemingway, known as Mr. Gig or Gigi to his family, was Ernest Hemingway’s youngest of three sons; his mother was Pauline, Papa’s second wife. This is his memoir of his father, and it begins and ends with Papa’s suicide, and the ways in which that trauma shaped Gigi’s life. It is a short but monumentally touching and surprisingly well-written book; I think it is the most moving biography of Papa (who, presumably, you know I adore) that I have read. While Gigi does relate several of his father’s uglier moments, including crimes against his son, he emphasizes Papa’s humanity and good qualities. The story told here seems to be of a fundamentally good man who got sicker and sicker at the end – though I think he always struggled with mental illness, from being cross-dressed as a toddler through pursuit of success, fame, and the fading of his talent – and fell apart. There are other perspectives out there; many biographers and commentators see Hemingway as a monster, and I accept that that is one perspective, and has evidence to back it up. But I’m always drawn to the outlook that he deserves our pity for the illness he struggled with that finally killed him; and that is more what we get here.

Gigi tells heartwarming stories, and some bad ones (like Papa blaming Gigi for Pauline’s death). He shows what good advice Papa gave; he was a good teacher. He addresses some of the myths surrounding his larger-than-life father, even though he is often unable to refute or confirm them because he was so small (or living with his mother). And it’s all so beautifully done! Who knew Gigi was a bit of a writer, himself? (Make note of the tale of his plagiarized short story, back when he still hoped to follow in his father’s footsteps.)

To me, one of the most poignant things about this slim memoir is our present knowledge of where Gigi went from here. At the time the book was written, he was a practicing physician and still married to Valerie (whose own memoir of Papa I have on my shelf waiting for me). He would later divorce Valerie (after some 20 years of marriage) and go on to two more marriages; become a cross-dresser and take steps toward a sex change; lose his medical license; battle alcoholism; and finally die in a women’s jail in Miami. In his book, there is a general tone of “look at me, I’ve come this far” – not bragging so much as in relief to have resisted the darkness for this long. He seems to have a positive attitude. But there is also quiet acknowledgement, here and there, of the sinister element within himself that he has worked to resist. This same subtle awareness of the darkness inside is present in Papa’s work beginning at a young age, and the youngest son Andrew in Islands in the Stream, clearly modeled on Gregory, has a “badness” in him as well. The descriptive passage about Andrew, in fact, is quoted at the beginning of this book, before Norman Mailer’s (excellent) introduction, implying that Andrew’s darkness as well as Papa’s and Gigi’s is acknowledged by all the parties.

This book was like a gift to me from yet another tragic Hemingway man. It gave me lovely, appealing moments with Papa, as well as those ugly moments in which he could be so vicious. It was beautifully written. I loved getting to know Gigi better; he struck me as a very likeable, sympathetic man. But it was also sad, as reading about the Hemingways always is.

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did not finish: Alice I Have Been by Melanie Benjamin

Posted on February 13, 2012 by pagesofjulia

I got not quite halfway through Alice I Have Been. I was looking forward to this book; I liked the sound of it. As it turned out, though, I couldn’t get motivated to continue. I wasn’t hating it, I just wasn’t particularly enjoying it, wasn’t particularly engaged, and I have so many books waiting for my attention that I’m trying to be very open to DNF’s. And I didn’t want to keep reading this one; so I’ve moved on to something that might please me better.

I really had two main complaints.

One, I spoke too soon in last Friday’s book beginning. The child-narrator I said sounded believable quickly took a turn in the other direction. Young Alice seems especially quick to empathize with others in ways that I don’t think are realistic for a child her age. For example: receiving a compliment – realizing the giver of said compliment had made her feel special when she so needed to – wondering if he has anyone in his life to provide the same service to him – giving him an awkward and dishonest compliment – musing that “every person, no matter how old, how matter how odd, needed someone like that [to make them feel special] in their lives.” Does that sound like an 8-year-old to you? It does not, to me. Or again, marveling “at how one man could appear to be so different to so many people.” Or being concerned at whether the musicians at a festival had gotten a break for dinner. While these moments make Alice seem very sweet and thoughtful, they don’t ring true for such a young person. Children, I think, are naturally selfish; empathy is something we learn with age. Especially a privileged child like Alice (who unthinkingly accepts her mother’s convention of calling all maids Mary Anne) would be unlikely, I think, to be concerned about meal breaks for musicians of a lower social class.

Second, the subject matter was starting to wear on me. The thesis of Alice I Have Been up to the place where I quit (page 155, if you’re concerned, of 345 in my edition) seems to be that the child Alice was not only the muse but the beloved of the adult Charles Dodgson aka Lewis Carroll. As young as age 8 she adores him, and feels but cannot name a tingling sensation in his presence that later morphs into physical attraction. At 13 she initiates physical touching (totally tame, of course, but definitely inappropriate) and demands that he wait for her until they can be together – this will be when she is 15 and he 35, she thinks (and it appears that this would indeed have been socially acceptable). The short version of which I think is: Dodgson was a pedophile. He went all trembly and ecstatic in the proximity of this 8-year-old child. This was distasteful to me.

A few caveats to this second protest. First, because I didn’t finish this book, I don’t know how things turned out. It may be that Benjamin turns things around and I have a misconception which will never be corrected (because I won’t finish the book). I don’t know. But for my purposes here, I don’t care; I see what I see and I don’t like it. Second, I’m not afraid of reading about pedophiles. I’ve certainly read far worse (graphic, violent, sick) in thrillers, etc. and will do so again. But I didn’t like it here, it wasn’t what I was looking for, and I didn’t feel like reading any further, so I shan’t. That’s all.

A lot of people love this book and perhaps you do (or will) and I wish you all the enjoyment in the world; but in a few days’ investment I was not interested in finishing this book. I’m moving on to something I hope to enjoy more. Come back tomorrow and find out what in the next edition of Teaser Tuesdays. 🙂

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Boca Daze by Steven M. Forman

Posted on February 12, 2012 by pagesofjulia

A witty sexagenarian PI who’s unafraid to take on a wacky variety of villains all at once.

Steven M. Forman’s third novel (following Boca Knights and Boca Mournings) checks back in with retired Boston cop Eddie Perlmutter, better known as the Boca Knight. Now firmly established as a private investigator in South Florida, Eddie is hit by several cases simultaneously. First, a homeless man claiming to be the Depression-era sad clown Weary Willie is attacked, and a local reporter asks Eddie to look into the circumstances. Then a new friend, World War II vet Herb Brown, suggests an investigation into a too-good-to-be-true investment scheme. For good measure, an old mobster acquaintance (and former foe from his days with the Boston PD) asks Eddie to take on the Florida “pill mills.” Eventually the Boca Knight finds himself staking out a Catholic church, traveling to Tallahassee to lobby the state legislature and palling around with a homeless woman with a tragic past. All this, while experimenting with Viagra to try to keep up with his much-younger girlfriend.

Eddie is wry and self-deprecating; the overall tone is humorous, his battles with “Mr. Johnson” especially so. Don’t sell Eddie short, though: despite the laughs, he can still take on gangsters a fraction of his age. Forman briefly but seriously addresses the Florida health crisis caused by a barely regulated prescription drug market, and then Boca Daze wraps up all its tragedies neatly and hopefully, with a wedding and a boxing match. Fans of lighthearted mysteries, South Florida or elderly heroes will be more than pleased with the Boca Knight’s latest quests.

This review originally ran as a *starred review* in the February 7, 2012 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

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On Paris by Ernest Hemingway

Posted on February 11, 2012 by pagesofjulia

On Paris is a collection of Hemingway’s dispatches for The Toronto Star from Paris when he was a young man, living with his first wife Hadley and hoping to become a successful novelist one day. It is brief, almost just a pamphlet at 70 pages; a person could easily sit down and read it in one setting (as I did, with a nap in the middle, with a puppy in my lap and rain on the roof, ah). The articles, intended for newspaper readers, are very short. Sometimes they are fairly well anchored in “news” but more often they are humorous musings on culture – the French versus the American or Canadian – including food & drink, legal niceties, Parisian manners, the nightlife scenes in various cities around the globe compared, even ladies’ hats. Unlike what I think of as “serious” newspaper reporting today, there is a tongue-in-cheek tone in almost every article. Rarely does he play it straight, which makes this book so fun.

I began to list the funniest highlights, but that is clearly a waste of my time. These are all funny short pieces and perhaps most importantly, I was pleased to note that Hemingway’s “voice” is present even in these early examples of his writing. He is droll. He pens deceptively simple one-liners with deadpan delivery; there is a one-count pause for his audience to get the joke. He makes observations that are incisive and sometimes frivolous. While not his mature work, and not fiction for which he is best known, I found this a very enjoyable little nibble of Hemingway, and I recommend it.

My parents brought me this book as a gift from Paris, as a contribution to the shrine that I was then completing. I can’t remember, but I think they got it at Shakespeare & Co.; I know they went there; Mom, can you confirm or deny? And of course there are other Hemingway “On” books: Hemingway On Writing, On War, On Fishing, On Hunting… but I still have By-Line: Ernest Hemingway too, to serve my need for excerpts of his journalism.

Have you read any Hemingway and what do you think of him?

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The Journey Home by Edward Abbey

Posted on February 9, 2012 by pagesofjulia

This is why we read Ed Abbey. He has the power to make me laugh and cry within a few pages.

I cannot describe The Journey Home better than Abbey does himself: this book is a collection of “adversary essays and assays, polemics, visions and hallucinations… published piece by piece in various odd places from Audubon to the Vulgarian Digest” and “fragments of autobiography, journalistic battle debris, nightmares and daydreams, bits and butts of outdoors philosophizing” (from Abbey’s introduction). The subtitle is “Some Words in Defense of the American West.” It works very well in the ways he describes: it is indeed a defense of the American West (although as he puts it another way: “the idea of wilderness needs no defense. It only needs more defenders”). It is a lovely collection of some journalism, some hallucinations and dreamings, and some eloquent essays.

The introduction to The Journey Home is devoted to arguing why he is not a nature writer; he’s just a guy with a lot of experience in and love for nature, writing a memoir that naturally includes a lot of nature. I hope he would forgive me, were he still here, for saying: Abbey, you are a nature writer. Memoirs they may be (and watch out for his novels, too: I loved Fire on the Mountain; was disappointed by Black Sun which apparently he really loved; and am excited to crack open his best-known and arguably movement-starting The Monkey-Wrench Gang) but they are also some of the finest nature writing we’ve seen. His own arguments notwithstanding, Abbey absolutely belongs in the company of Thoreau and Muir. I recognize so much of what I, and modern authors and political thinkers and philosophers I admire, have thought and felt and written, in Abbey’s earlier work. He is important.

He is also so angry! He can be so funny, so flippant and casual (Husband and I both laughed til we cried over “Disorder and Early Sorrow”), but so angry, too. Rightfully so, of course, in detailing strip-mining operations and the destruction of the woods he played in as a kid. He is a contradiction; he reminds me very much of a much-loved friend who will recognize himself in this review. He throws beer cans out the window as he drives:

Rumbling along in my 1962 Dodge D-100, the last good truck Dodge ever made, I tossed my empty out the window and popped the top from another can of Schlitz. Littering the public highway? Of course I litter the public highway. Every chance I get. After all, it’s not the beer cans that are ugly; it’s the highway that is ugly. Beer cans are beautiful, and someday, when recycling becomes a serious enterprise, the government can put one million kids to work each summer picking up the cans I and others have thoughtfully stored along the roadways.

(from “The Second Rape of the West,” which deals not with beer cans on highways but strip-mining for coal, among other large-scale littering operations.)

…but is at the same time an ardent defender of wildness and nature, left alone. He advises a leave-no-trace approach to wilderness, packing out trash, dismantling fire rings, because after all, “the search and rescue team may be looking for you.” (That’s the wilderness, as opposed to the public highway.) He’s so incredibly (sadly) relevant today, only dated in some of the little details. He is poignantly hopeful; I regret the ways in which we’ve not lived up to his hopes in the few decades since he wrote. For example, our US Census in 2000 unfortunately showed our national population at 281,421,906 rather than the 250 million at which Abbey predicted we would “level off,” and we are now estimated at not quite 313 million.

Funny, angry, righteous, well-researched, poignant. A priceless glimpse into a fascinating, contradictory personality, and a moment in American time that will never be replicated. I want nothing more, after reading this book, than to go on one of his ill-conceived and poorly-planned backcountry trips with him. He makes me think – he makes me think in ways that we all desperately need to think, even more so today than when he wrote (original pub date 1977). I challenge you to read of his attempt to shake hands with a mountain lion (in “Freedom and Wilderness, Wilderness and Freedom”) and not get goosebumps.

In the end, this is a collection of essays and ramblings by a gifted author who loved our natural world, about small things as well as the big issues, like why we shouldn’t destroy what little of it we have left. I found it incredibly moving (again: I laughed and cried) and beautiful and can’t wait to read more Abbey. I only hope he’s right that

If man in his newfound power and vanity persists in the attempt to remake the planet in his own image, he will succeed only in destroying himself – not the planet. The earth will survive our most ingenious folly.

I’m afraid we’re going to push the point.

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Inferno: The World at War, 1939-1945 by Max Hastings

Posted on February 6, 2012 by pagesofjulia


Max Hastings is a highly regarded war historian (primarily WWII) and author of a great many books examining his subject from various angles (most recently Winston’s War). His latest, Inferno, covers WWII through the lens of “regular people” as primary sources. In his introduction, he explains that his book does not seek to be a comprehensive study of WWII in all its events, bringing a reader from zero knowledge up to expert level; rather, it assumes some familiarity with the war and concentrates on people: “This is a book chiefly about human experience.”

Hastings did what he set out to do: he exposed the human experience of WWII, in all its horror and almost incomprehensible suffering and death, in its follies and incompetencies and cruelties and in its rare moments of black humor. The brief quotations from regular folks from dozens of countries are moving, illustrative, and diverse, both in viewpoint and in origin. They offer a valuable telling of the war, and serve as a great history lesson/review too.

This is a high-quality book; it has a lot to offer. At almost 700 pages, the reader’s motivation will have to be fairly high to invest the time and effort required to reap the full benefits. But for the interested reader, a treasure trove of honest contemporary accounts of this remarkable tragedy of history awaits.

This review was written for Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

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