did not finish: Dancing with the Queen, Marching with King by Sam Aldrich

Posted on August 28, 2011 by pagesofjulia

I was sent a galley copy of this book for review, but was not able to stomach it.

Alexander “Sam” Aldrich was born a blue-blood in New York state, silver spoon and all. He received a good classy upbringing, but pursued more philanthropic goals than just earning money as I believe was expected of him. He worked as a lawyer, then in city and state government. His book begins with an explanation of the title: first, a brief account of having danced with the Queen of England at age 25, and then a several-chapters-long narrative of his experience marching with Martin Luther King, Jr. from Selma to Montgomery, in his thirties. In telling of the march on Montgomery, Aldrich is at his strongest; his passion and indignation at injustice comes through. And although I looked carefully, he never claimed to have fully grasped what it was like to be a poor black man in Alabama in the 1960’s.

Throughout, Aldrich’s writing is very poor. He’s clearly writing as he talks; it’s conversational; but it’s also full of grammar mistakes, run-on sentences and the like. A conversational style can be endearing and casual, but this came across as amateurish; surely the State University of New York Press wants to keep its name clearer than this. Yes this is a galley copy, but I’m not talking about a few typographical errors that will be corrected in copy editing; I’m talking about a writing style that made my skin crawl.

Aldrich’s story fell short for me quickly. I made it about halfway through the 270ish pages and felt bored. I fear that the Selma to Montgomery march may have been his greatest moment, and if so, he may have done better to not let it go in the first few chapters. I think his claim to fame is his refusal to be a standard rich guy, but what he did instead did not strike me as so remarkable as to keep this book afloat.

The final straw was reference to the outing, blacklisting, and harassment of communists in the 1950’s, which I thought we were done being proud of; but this 2011 publication toes the McCarthyist party line perfectly. I had been peering suspiciously sideways at Aldrich’s semi-concealed conservative agenda, and coming across this ugliness was the end for me.

Final verdict? I can’t entirely judge, of course, having been unable to even finish the dern thing; but my impression is: a poorly written memoir of a semi-remarkable life, with a partially-concealed political agenda that I personally find abhorrent. Not for me.

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County: Life, Death and Politics at Chicago’s Public Hospital by David A. Ansell

Posted on August 27, 2011 by pagesofjulia

I read ~150 of County‘s ~200 pages in one night, and forced myself off to bed. Finished the next day. Ansell is no professional writer; I itched to get out my red pen here and there. But his story is powerful and evocative, and his passion for the injustices he describes absolutely screams off the page.

I found myself swept away in the story of “County,” as Ansell refers to the Cook County Hospital in Chicago where he spent the bulk of his career. As a med student, he and his friends suspected they wanted to go to County, famous for its overcrowding, underfunding, racial disparity, and incredible challenge. His group was concerned about social injustice. Fresh off antiwar protests and sensitive to racism, these idealistic young med students drove down from New York to Chicago to visit the hospital and interview with Quentin Young, then Chairman of the Department of Internal Medicine, famous pioneer of desegregation and human rights in health care. They were shocked at the squalor and disorganization, even having come in with some impressions. Ansell & friends, eventually known as the “Syracuse Group,” conspired to become residents at County, precisely because of the challenges it presented.

Ansell is strongest when telling his personal story. Residents at County in his day (he started in 1978) had little to no supervision or assistance from their attending physicians; he describes an environment in which the residents all muddle through together, cooperatively, learning as they went. This was a great education but often resulted in less-than-optimal care for the poverty-stricken patients. From resident, he goes on to a position as an attending physician at County, although his original plan had been to head back east after completing his residency. He was immediately hooked, though, by the neediness of County, the organization, and his patients. He was also involved in politics and activism from his first moment on campus – literally. He attended a meeting on the day of his scheduled interview for residency.

Over the years, Dr. Ansell would serve in various positions in the ER and in the outpatient clinic, and be part of the birth of the Breast Cancer Screening Program and County’s AIDS Clinic. His patients, and their problems, made deep impressions on him. He was active in trying to right the wrongs of the health care system and of County’s management and underfunding in particular. When the politics really get going, Ansell can get a little bit soap-boxy. I have mixed feelings about this aspect of the book. While unquestionably passionate, righteous, and well-informed, he can tend to come on a little strong. Preachy, even. My concern here is the one my old buddy Gerber expressed about Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickled and Dimed: On Not Getting By in America, years ago: the author’s personal political starting point is so overtly obvious that the (actually very strong) point of the book may be dismissed because of the author’s prejudice. Speaking as someone who DOES share Ansell’s politics, and who still feels that he can get a little preachy, I have concerns about the book achieving its goal of education and perhaps even changing minds.

But the stories about Ansell’s experience learning and working as a professional doctor, the stories about his patients and their troubles, and the stories about the challenges of County… its politics, the underfunding, the horrific and inhumane conditions… these are where Ansell shines. It’s a powerful, emotional, evocative book. It makes good points: it argues that access to health care is a human right, and should not be dependent upon health insurance or employment status. It is definitely a political book. I recommend it, just with a few reservations. Because it is short and engrossing, you can almost read this book in one sitting or two. And I think it is absolutely worth your time.

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The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde (audio)

Posted on August 25, 2011 by pagesofjulia

I am having some trouble writing up my experience with this book. Please bear with me if I ramble.

I struggled with this book, which frankly surprised me a bit. I tend to enjoy The Classics; I expect to enjoy them. I’ve had relatively few failures (ahem, Faulkner and Henry Miller, I’m looking at you). But I fear that Oscar Wilde may not be for me. I listened to this book on audio. Is that the wrong way to do it? It may be my first attempt at a classic in this format. You’d think it would be more accessible this way.

We open with a scene in which Lord Henry is visiting his friend Basil, a painter. They admire Basil’s masterpiece to date, a portrait of a beautiful young man. Basil expresses a deep infatuation with the young man, whom he does not want to share with Lord Henry in any way, not even to tell him his name; but shortly, Dorian Gray appears. His new friend Lord Henry makes him a speech about the glorious and fleeting nature of his (Dorian’s) youth and beauty, which leads Dorian to make a speech (there’s a lot of speech-making, more so than dialog, if you ask me) in which he wishes that he could always be young and beautiful, and his portrait grow old and ugly in his place.

Well. In case you haven’t heard of this famous story, he gets his wish.

Dorian follows other advice of Lord Henry’s, which is not advised. A large part of his new life philosophy involves taking every pleasure one can without considering consequences, seeking beauty. Dorian courts a young woman from the lower classes and then dumps her, resulting in her suicide; this is when he first notices that the portrait has begun to change. It shows marks of sin; there was a “touch of cruelty round the warped lips.” After some agonizing, he decides to go on living an evil and dissolute life, and letting the portrait shoulder the results.

I found my interest fading in and out. Wilde has these moments of brilliant, shining beauty: his descriptions of people can be remarkably fancifully, finely painted. For example, the people Lord Henry finds when he comes in to dinner at his aunt’s:

Dorian bowed to him shyly from the end of the table, a flush of pleasure stealing into his cheek. Opposite was the Duchess of Harley, a lady of admirable good-nature and good temper, much liked by everyone who knew her, and of those ample architectural proportions that in women who are not duchesses are described by contemporary historians as stoutness. Next to her sat, on her right, Sir Thomas Burdon, a Radical member of Parliament, who followed his leader in public life and in private life followed the best cooks, dining with the Tories and thinking with the Liberals, in accordance with a wise and well-known rule. The post on her left was occupied by Mr. Erskine of Treadley, an old gentleman of considerable charm and culture, who had fallen, however, into bad habits of silence, having, as he explained once to Lady Agatha, said everything that he had to say before he was thirty. His own neighbor was Mrs. Vandeleur, one of his aunt’s oldest friends, a perfect saint amongst women, but so dreadfully dowdy that she reminded one of a badly bound hymn-book.

But I found Lord Henry to be entirely intolerable, and Dorian and Basil only slightly less so. When any combination of these three self-centered gentlemen of leisure shares dialog, I want to throw things.

“Harry, you are dreadful! I don’t know why I like you so much.”

“You will always like me, Dorian,” he replied.

I can’t stomach the tone of self-satisfaction. (I wonder if if the voice of the narrator is part of my aversion.) Lord Henry, especially, philosophizes endlessly and meaninglessly. I can’t pay attention to him, no matter how hard I try. He is forever telling his young, impressionable friend Dorian that things will “always” be one way or the other. It irritates me. Perhaps this is Wilde’s point? Maybe I am responding just as he intended me to. I don’t care; I don’t enjoy it.

So to carry on. Dorian hides his portrait and lives a life of sin and pleasure. The storytelling speeds up; we see many years go by while the (anti)hero pursues one indulgence, then another. There are more gems of beautiful, poetic writing in the description of the items Dorian collects, like jewels, tapestries, and music. Here, discussing the lore of the gemstones he collects:

In Alphonso’s Clericalis Disciplina a serpent was mentioned with eyes of real jacinth, and in the romantic history of Alexander, the Conqueror of Emathia was said to have found in the vale of Jordan snakes “with collars of real emeralds growing on their backs.” There was a gem in the brain of the dragon, Philostratus told us, and “by the exhibition of golden letters and a scarlet robe” the monster could be thrown into a magical sleep and slain. According to the great alchemist, Pierre de Boniface, the diamond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of India made him eloquent. The cornelian appeased anger, and the hyacinth provoked sleep, and the amethyst drove away the fumes of wine. The garnet cast out demons, and the hydropicus deprived the moon of her colour. The selenite waxed and waned with the moon, and the meloceus, that discovers thieves, could be affected only by the blood of kids. Leonardus Camillus had seen a white stone taken from the brain of a newly killed toad, that was a certain antidote against poison. The bezoar, that was found in the heart of the Arabian deer, was a charm that could cure the plague. In the nests of Arabian birds was the aspilates, that, according to Democritus, kept the wearer from any danger by fire.

There’s a lilt, a rhythm to that passage, that makes it almost musical, itself.

And through it all, the portrait bears the ugliness of his actions. I guess this is where I say, I had some trouble with all the discussion of the physical manifestation of sin and of goodness; Dorian’s society takes for granted that beautiful people are good and evil people become ugly, so no argument against Dorian’s virtue can be entertained, since he’s so youthful and beautiful even 18 years after the story begins in Basil’s painting studio. This may be one of those fancies one should just accept in fiction, and maybe I was just too grumpy at my other complaints to accept it, but it didn’t work for me. Or, more to the point: perhaps Wilde is actually attacking this very concept, and I’m missing his point. The whole thing grated on me, though, instead of making me think, if that was indeed his intention.

My gripes are numerous, aren’t they? Am I being unfair? There were definitely a few moments of glistening gorgeous writing; but the philosophizing was intolerable, and the dialog was more like a series of monologues, and I just couldn’t buy into the gravity of the ideological arguments. It was all fluffy talk, and I fear Wilde meant for it to be taken seriously.

I spent the bulk of this book waiting for it to be over so I could go on to Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, which by the way is so far really wonderful. (Timely bonus link: 10 Writers Who Moonlighted as Dandies lists both Wilde and Capote, naturally.) I feel sorry I couldn’t appreciate more of this classic work, but I couldn’t. On the other hand, because of those beautiful bits, and Wilde’s reputation, I sort of wish I could take on this book as a subject of study with an expert – maybe in a college course – and have its quality explained to me. I’m really baffled.

Do you love this book? Can you please explain its redeeming qualities?

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Ruby Red by Kerstin Gier, trans. by Anthea Bell

Posted on August 24, 2011 by pagesofjulia

Not being a big reader of YA, or time travel, or fantasy/alternate realty/insert-concept-here, it surprised me how much I was drawn to this book. But I was.

Before I tell you about this story, here’s a funny detail I noted right off: the translator, Anthea Bell, also translated the last book I read from-the-German, The Stronger Sex. This title is YA where that one was decidedly adult material, but I guess a strong German-to-English translator is the same across the board. I hadn’t really thought about it before. Just as I said about The Stronger Sex, Bell gets full credit for making the translation invisible. If anything, the language here is a little more awkward; but having read that other example of Bell’s translation, I think this awkwardness comes from the original. If I hadn’t known, I wouldn’t have suspected translation issues – I would have assumed just what I have come to feel is a common YA writing issue. It feels a little bit effortfully simplified, if that makes sense. It’s something I’ve encountered in YA before. I guess it’s a reading-level thing. Like in Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, it bothered me slightly when I focused on it, but the story ended up engrossing me enough that it faded into the background. I don’t read a lot of YA. If you don’t, either, this little issue may irk you as it does me; if you read a fair amount of YA, chances are good it won’t faze you.

Gwen is trying to live a normal teen existence in present-day London, but her obnoxious cousin Charlotte’s destiny is difficult to ignore. Charlotte has inherited the family’s time-travel gene, and any day now, she’s expected to take her first trip. She’s been trained all her life in languages, history, the mannerisms of different periods, fencing, dancing, and music. But when the first uncontrolled time travel occurs, it’s not Charlotte, but Gwen – of all people! – who finds herself in an unfamiliar era. She’s thrust unprepared into a complicated world, and finds herself partnered in adventure with Gideon de Villiers, the time-travel-gene-carrying teen of his own family. He is snotty and bossy… and sooooo handsome…

I enjoyed the intrigue, the plots and codes and ancient documents and secrets and mysteries. I enjoyed the world Gier builds. I even enjoyed, mildly, the juvenile romance. But I didn’t get enough of any of it. I felt like the set-up for the story took 3/4 of the book, and then the story began and –whoosh– please buy the sequel that comes out in 2012. Is this a YA thing? I was frustrated and unsatisfied; but I’m also intrigued enough to seek out Sapphire Blue, the aforementioned sequel. Sigh. I guess she got me.

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The Fifth Witness by Michael Connelly (audio)

Posted on August 20, 2011 by pagesofjulia

Finally got around to Michael Connelly’s latest via audiobook. This was a good way to fit it into my somewhat busy print-reading schedule (I’m working on two clunksters, Newspaper Titan and Don Quixote), but there was a drawback: I had a real problem with this narrator, and I fear that it effected my reception of the whole book, sadly. Peter Giles’ narration was so heavy and serious it weighed down the story and its potential humor.

Quick synopsis: Attorney Mickey Haller has picked up home foreclosure cases (civil) to fill out his business. But he returns to his roots as a criminal defense attorney when one of his home foreclosure clients, Lisa Trammel, is accused of the murder of a big-time banker involved in foreclosing on her home. There may even be mob involvement: is Lisa being set up?

I’m afraid my disappointment extended to Connelly as well as narrator Giles. I didn’t like how this one felt very didactic. Early on I was offended by lots of Mickey explaining things to his 14-year-old daughter, where the very awkward dialog was obviously just a mechanism to explain things to me, the reader (listener). And that daughter, by the way, seemed awfully juvenile for 14. Almost shades of Sophie’s World, shudder, which I despised. There was a didactic feel to most of the novel, in fact; Haller went out of his way in dialog to explain courtroom procedures, to his client, yes, but also to his staff, who should well know this stuff by now. His client, Lisa, is an unsympathetic character. She was meant to be unlikeable, so I guess I should give Connelly credit for the fact that she drove me nuts. But I’m not sure it was necessary that she be quite so bleating. It’s one thing to successfully pull off an unlikeable character, and another to make me cringe every time she appears.

I did like the little joke whereby Mickey is asked if perhaps Matt McConaughey wouldn’t do well playing him in a movie; but that brings me to another beef with this narrator. McConaughey’s smooth, suave, slightly fast-talking portrayal in The Lincoln Lawyer was very true to Mickey Haller’s persona on the page; whereas this audio narrator has him EM. PHA. SIZING. EVERY. WORD. in an aggressive and abrasive way that I find offputting and inaccurate. Isn’t Mickey Haller’s charm, and effectiveness as a lawyer, wrapped up in his ability to be, well, charming? Likeable? This grunting character in the audiobook doesn’t sound like the Mickey I know from his last three book appearances. It makes me wonder how much control Connelly has over these creative productions of his work – ideally, lots, and maybe that’s why Giles is the third narrator I’ve encountered in, count ’em, three Connelly audiobooks. Mr. Connelly, if you’re reading this (ha), I vote against Giles. It was all I could do to finish this book on audio. I wanted to switch over to print but oh, woe, little reading time and prior commitments.

Things did pick up considerably when we finally got into the courtroom. Haller, and Connelly, both shine in this setting, and my enjoyment of the story and the drama and the action and the dialog all increased when the trial began. I felt that the pace really ramped up; instead of feeling exasperated, I really looked forward to the next installment. But even here, Connelly’s not up to his own standards. Some of the dialog was still contrived, and there were at least two instances were Haller expressed (in his first-person narration to me, the reader) that he didn’t know how to handle a new and surprising incident. These struck me as relatively commonplace courtroom events, though, and his confusion didn’t ring true for me. I mean, I almost knew how to handle things (at least in fiction-land) from my reading in this genre. Haller’s sudden ineptitude – when his character is supposedly so slick and expert – didn’t work for me. These were minor moments, but they drew my attention because they didn’t fit.

I’m mulling over this reading (listening) experience now, wondering how things took such a poor turn for me. I have always been really excited about Connelly’s Bosch novels, and not much less so, all the rest of his work: the standalone The Scarecrow, the first Haller book The Lincoln Lawyer, etc. From his first novel on (and I have now read them ALL), I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve read. How sad and concerning, then, that this latest, The Fifth Witness, is my least favorite so far!

The courtroom drama did work. Some new characters were introduced who might hold some promise, namely Haller’s new assistant counsel, Jennifer “Bullocks” Aronson. And the big revelation at the end? Well, the jury is out (ha) on this so far. I like the future and the new directions it opens up for Haller, and for Maggie McFierce. I think I’m on board with the overarching change of heart it indicates. I am relatively sure I’m on board with the idea that this is a natural progression for Haller. But I’m not completely sold on any of these arguments; and I think the reason I’m not completely sold is that Connelly didn’t sell it. This was not his strongest work.

I hope very much for more to come, soon, and better, and maybe with Bosch, rather than or in addition to Haller? Bosch is my favorite. I realize Haller’s the new star, what with The Lincoln Lawyer movie making such a big splash. It was a good movie – entertaining and well-done and perhaps most important to me, fairly faithful to the book. But I hope Connelly isn’t letting this success dictate his work.

I’m sorry to have to write anything less than glowing about my guy Connelly, but I call ’em like I see ’em. I give The Fifth Witness a “meh” and hope for more, better, soon.

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Killing Floor by Lee Child (audio)

Posted on August 18, 2011 by pagesofjulia

My love affair with Jack Reacher is going strong; or perhaps it should be just starting here? This is the very first Reacher novel published. (While Child did later publish prequels, he recommends they be read in publication order rather than chronological order. Read all about it.) So, in this book, the Reacher I’ve come to know is just six months out of the army. He’s a former MP – military policeman – just roaming, trying to figure out what he’s doing with himself. He was raised in the army, living just a few months at a time at barracks around the world. When it was time, he went to West Point, and found spending four years in one place bizarre. Then he graduated, entered the army himself, and has lived the rest of his life a few months at a time at barracks around the world, too. So roaming comes naturally. (This is the first time I can remember finding Reacher to be a music fan. The song “Rambling on My Mind” recurs.)

Reacher roams into small-town Margraves, Georgia, and is arrested immediately on a murder charge. He’s calm; he knows he’ll be cleared, since he didn’t do it. But when he finds out who the murder victim was… he’s involved, and has to stick around. The victims start stacking up, and he meets a pretty girl who’s also a local cop, and Reacher is pulled into a big mess. The team of killers is stalking him, and he’s not afraid to do battle, especially considering who they started with.

I’ve written about Reacher quite a bit. He continues to be big and burly and frankly, sexy, and tough and uber-capable and clever. The plot line is actually pretty predictable: Reacher will kill people. He’ll get away with it. He’ll probably get laid, although the sex is not graphic. (The violence is.) He’ll amaze you and make you gasp. Like a sighing reader of romance novels (who reads not to find out if they’ll hook up, but just to be there when they do), I’m not here to find out how he’ll win – I know he will. The suspense is in who the bad guy is and how it all comes out. I feel a little bit wrenched every time he walks away from the town, the situation, the girl, and the new quasi-friends he’s made. But he’ll keep on walking away.

But this is the FIRST time he’s done it! I was thrilled to meet him near the beginning of his lack of career, his aimless wandering, and see his plans formed. This is the first time I’ve seen him consider hanging around – because it’s his first retired adventure. Later in the series he’ll learn not to consider it. We also get to meet his brother (well, sort of) which gives me a differently-angled view into his background. I look forward to reading the prequels, too, for the same reason.

Come meet Reacher at the beginning, y’all. This is a classic of Reacherdom and I love it.

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Gone with the Wind part 2 (ch. 8-16)

Posted on August 15, 2011 by pagesofjulia

Follow the Great Gone with the Wind Readalong at The Heroine’s Bookshelf. Today we discuss part 2.

I continue to be very impressed. Mitchell is positively painterly in her descriptions of people and places. I love the people, and the clothing, the best. I’m not usually all that interested in clothes but the finery of Atlanta’s Civil War era society scene is awfully colorful, elaborate, and foreign to me. This second part of the book has closed in a little bit, I feel, to relatively few characters: Scarlett, Melanie, Miss Pittypat, and Rhett Butler being the features. Scarlett continues to be a character who is not likeable, exactly (I wouldn’t want to be her friend; not that she’d want to be mine!), but is fascinating and I have to say sympathetic – in the sense that I sympathize with her frustrations, even her desire for simplicity, joy, pleasure, attention. She’s human; I understand her. Melanie is less human because she’s so innocent and trusting; it almost stretches one’s credulity, although I guess Southern ladies were trained to be just that, so maybe it’s historically accurate. Miss Pittypat is definitely a caricature, but a well-formed one.

Captain Rhett Butler I find intriguing. I never did understand Scarlett’s passion for Ashley; he seems to be a pretty face and a romantic ideal, and little else. Pardon me for parroting Gerald, but they’re certainly not suited for one another. Rhett, though, should be just up Scarlett’s alley. He’s got spunk and attitude, not to mention he’s also handsome (several mentions of how BIG he is, too) and has plenty of money. Maybe they’re too much alike, with too much irreverence. Certainly he’s not ready to pay her the kind of attention, flattery, compliments, and silliness that she wants. But I find the prospect of Rhett for Scarlett to be much more exciting than the prospect of Ashley.

We’ve moved a little bit away from the slave characters, too, although we did get a brief sketch of “Uncle” Peter and his control over the household. My memory of Mammy dims, but I’m still bothered by a feeling that she (and many of the slaves depicted as loyal and content in their lot) are painted with a political perspective we no longer find appropriate.

Gone with the Wind continues to be a feat: of beautiful, evocative, fine writing and literary descriptions; of character sketches; of historical fiction with all the details; and of suspenseful drama that keeps me turning the pages. I have lots of other reading to do, so I’m putting this one down til the next readalong date (we discuss part 3 on Sept. 5), but with great difficulty! I am grateful that this readalong finally got me reading this classic. Its fine reputation is deserving.

As usual, don’t forget to stop by The Heroine’s Bookshelf for discussion of part 2, and please do join us if you can!

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The Accident by Linwood Barclay

Posted on August 9, 2011 by pagesofjulia

A relentlessly paced thriller in which a man has to turn detective to protect his little girl and determine the truth behind his wife’s death.

When Glen Garber’s wife, Sheila, is killed in a drunk driving accident, he’s shocked and disbelieving when he learns that she was the drunk driver. Suddenly a single father, he struggles to reconcile Sheila’s final act with what he knew of her, but things just keep getting stranger. One of Sheila’s best friends is killed in another bizarre accident right after yelling at Glen’s eight-year-old daughter, Kelly, for overhearing a phone call.

The intrigue mounts. Glen receives threats and inexplicable instructions from Sheila’s friends; someone shoots out Kelly’s window; and a sinister figure with ties to organized crime pays a visit to the Garber household. Glen’s contracting business, already in financial trouble, may be on its way to becoming another victim. The background and setting are über-current, with small-town families struggling to survive a recession, tricky sub-prime mortgages and home foreclosures. Unsure of the local police department, Glen is forced to undertake his own investigations. Is someone trying to destroy his business? What questionable sideline dealing was Sheila involved in? And who or what, exactly, killed her?

Glen, a competent builder but a decidedly amateur investigator, is most importantly a loving father. After all the dust settles, this heart-pounding thriller is surprising family-oriented. Barclay’s (Never Look Away) fast-paced, twisting plot keeps the reader guessing at who the good guys and the bad guys are. Allegiances shift. Glen isn’t sure who can be trusted; and while we stay a step ahead of him, the ending still comes with a shocking crash.

This review originally ran in the August 9, 2011 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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Don Quixote by Cervantes, trans. by J.M. Cohen: The First Part

Posted on August 7, 2011 by pagesofjulia

Thank goodness Cervantes gives us a “First Part” division right at the halfway mark of this big book, because I need it. I have a huge number of galleys to read for review, and the Gone with the Wind readalong going on as well. So Don Quixote is getting a break. But, I am enjoying it and will be picking it back up! So, eventually, expect a Second Part.

For a chunkster, this is surprisingly easy reading. Don Quixote and sidekick Sancho are just goofily traversing the Spanish countryside, having haphazard and silly adventures which they view in different terms. At the beginning, Sancho’s perspective is that of reality, more or less, with an ongoing desire to please his master and see things his master’s way, and Don Quixote’s perspective is entirely fantastical, based on the novels of chivalry he has read until his brain became mush. (The perils of novel-reading, children!) As they continue their adventures, though, Sancho buys into the fantasy – mostly. He retains a more cynical view that his master, who is completely off his rocker where errantry is concerned.

I was definitely intimidated by its bulk, but these 900+ pages of story are split into little episodes only 2-3 pages long in some cases. What I’m saying is, if you’re intimidated by the bulk of Don Quixote, don’t be! It’s remarkably easy, and entertaining, reading.

Don Quixote is a gentleman of leisure living in the countryside of La Mancha. (This is Spain in, erm, the 1600’s or 1500’s? Published in early 1600’s. I’m not too clear on the precise setting in time, 16th vs. 17th century Spain, and the niceties thereof, not being a strong point in my education to date.) He becomes so obsessed with his novels of chivalry and the knights errant and their lady loves and great deeds, etc., that his mind becomes confused. He outfits himself in a comical assortment of bits and pieces and substitute parts, thinking he is an elegant knight. He roams the countryside on his tired old horse, with a squire named Sancho on a mule, imagining that he achieves feats of gallant and courageous battle and strength, when in fact he (famously) does battle with windmills, releases dangerous criminals from the King’s custody, gets himself and Sancho beaten repeatedly, makes promises he clearly will not be able to keep, and generally makes a fool of himself.

The book, which was originally published in two volumes (thus, two parts!), follows a meandering story line; it is more a series of small adventures, the kind that might be published serially. Some of these adventures leave Don Quixote and Sancho sidelined while we meet other temporary protagonists. These are a welcome respite when Don Quixote’s ridiculous behavior becomes tiresome. I get most excited and engrossed in his adventures when there are plenty of other characters milling about; just Don Quixote and Sancho together can get a little bit repetitive. It is easy to get annoyed with Don Quixote because he is exasperating; but this is intended. He is a ridiculous character.

I am surprised at what an easy and quick read this is turning out to be, and at how often I giggled aloud. Don’t fear the chunky Classic of Literature, friends. Although setting the book aside for now, I look forward to returning to it. Part the Second to come.

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One for the Money by Janet Evanovich

Posted on August 6, 2011 by pagesofjulia

Perhaps you noticed how badly my last Evanovich experiment turned out. Perhaps you are shocked (as am I, rather) that I tried again. Well, for one, I was still trying to figure out what people like so much about Evanovich; I hope to be the kind of librarian who at least knows something about all the different genres and tastes. Also, I spoke with a friendly regular patron after my failed attempt with one of her little-known romance novels (above), and decided I was misguided in judging her based on that. I was advised to try again with the Stephanie Plum series, and so I picked up the very first. [For the record, yes, duh, I should have started here in the first place. I did know these were her bigtime contributions. But I guess I was trying to knock out a pure-romance-genre read – again for the sake of breadth in my reading – at the same time. Failure. Note: Always read what the author is famous for.]

For those that don’t know, Stephanie Plum is reluctantly and accidentally employed as a bounty hunter in New Jersey. This first book is her intro to the business. She’s an unlikely candidate, but she needs the money – Plum is kind of a mess, but a cute one. Her first job is to hunt down Joe Morelli, to whom she lost her virginity behind an eclair case in high school. Her feelings for him are mixed, but she barely has time to even try to work them out as the corpses mount up around her, she’s stalked by a sadistic serial rapist, and somebody else is trying to kill her.

I know, just from cover blurbs and general awareness, that Plum has a ping-pong-style love triangle with Morelli and fellow bounty hunter Ranger. This love triangle and sexual tension, as I understand it, is going strong – and still unresolved – after the recent publication of Smokin’ Seventeen, the 17th (yes, true) in her by-the-numbers Plum series. On top of these there are a number of between-the-numbers Stephanie Plum novels, so that for over 20 books, Evanovich’s fans have been eagerly awaiting resolution. Or have they? Maybe they enjoy this ongoing tension and drama, but I have read a few reviews myself indicating that her readers do desire decision. I confess, this is something that would get old for me. Indecisiveness, especially of the multiple-lovers variety, is a bit of a peeve of mine.

Another mild complaint: I’m not offended by sex or violence. I literally haven’t found my boundaries yet; I can handle whatever an author throws. But! I am offended, stylistically, by gratuitousness. And I found some of the sexual references gratuitous. Again, I’m not much of a reader of romance novels; I suspect this is a staple of the steamier of that genre that its readers expect and cherish. But the random appearance of genitalia for its own sake throws me off and yes, offends me – not because it’s sex, but because it’s random. [Seekers of “clean” books, look elsewhere.]

I was conflicted during most of my reading of this book. Stephanie Plum is feisty, hectic, and cute; she has attitude; her narrative voice is funny. Funny things happen to her: awkward moments and moments of conflicted sexual tension. There is some real humor here. But I was annoyed, too. I realize that the outlandish, unrealistic, pure silliness of these story lines are part of their appeal – Evanovich’s fans appreciate this – but I don’t think it’s for me. I’m too easily exasperated with Plum and her indecision (did I say that already?) and her clumsiness and poor decision-making. These books may not be my cup – but of course that’s a subjective judgment, and that doesn’t mean others can’t enjoy them.

I was repeatedly tempted to put this book down, but I hung in there. Just as I got annoyed by Plum (I promise you, if we were friends, I would constantly be rolling my eyes, sighing, and giving her unsolicited advice. Maybe we wouldn’t be friends very long), she’d make me giggle and I’d decide to keep going. Plus, I already quit on Evanovich once, and I was determined to see this one through.

After finishing the book, I remain ambivalent. This book did make me laugh, and it did keep me turning the pages, so Evanovich accomplished several goals: suspense and humor. But I finished with the same exasperation and frustration I’d felt for the whole book. I don’t entirely respect Plum. I’ve had my share of male-female interactions, and I don’t think people behave like this in the real world. It reads like a romance novel, not like life. I’m bothered by the scene, prevalent in romance novels, wherein a man can seduce a woman by being aggressive, rough, rude, even violent. I think this is a dangerous concept to propagate. But perhaps my overarching complaint is, this book is silly. And pointing to this as a criticism rather than a selling point is a matter of my personal taste, not of the objective value of Evanovich’s work.

As a final aside, it was cute to see how dated some of the details were. Cassette tapes, and the impressive tape deck in Morelli’s tricked-out Jeep, made me flip to the front for the publication date: 1994. Rather a fun little blast from the past. As you may have noticed, I’m not too concerned with reading series in order, but I’m glad I started at the beginning of this one. I’m willing to give Evanovich credit – sight unseen – that her characters & style develop as the series progresses. I’m happy to have started off at the beginning.

Final verdict? My options would have to be pretty slim to pick up another one of these books, but at least I now understand what Evanovich fans are looking for. She’s not to my personal taste. But I can see the appeal.

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