Teaser Tuesdays: The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just open your current read to a random page and share a few sentences. Be careful not to include spoilers!

Head’s up, friends: expect a wildly raving review of The Song of Achilles in the next few days. I am mad for this book. I’ve chosen a teaser for you today that I especially enjoyed.

This was no slouchy prince of wine halls and debauchery, as Easterners were said to be. This was a man who moved like the gods were watching; every gesture he made was upright and correct. There was no one else it could be but Hector.

I reread this passage a few times, it made me so happy. Run out and get you a copy.

What are you reading this week?

A Queer and Pleasant Danger: The True Story of a Nice Jewish Boy who Joins the Church of Scientology and Leaves Twelve Years Later to Become the Lovely Lady She is Today by Kate Bornstein

A radical gender theorist and performance artist’s memoir makes its eye-catching subtitle look staid.


Kate Bornstein started life as Albert, a Jewish kid on the Jersey shore who knew when he was four and a half years old that he wasn’t a boy. Bornstein’s path was predictably complicated from there, but the lengthy list of problems she lists in her prologue astounds: she suffers from leukemia as well as anorexia, borderline personality disorder, post-traumatic stress syndrome and a history of cutting; she’s a sadomasochist, a transsexual and a former member of the Church of Scientology. Furthermore, A Queer and Pleasant Danger states from the outset its purpose of hopefully someday introducing Kate to her daughter and grandchildren, currently estranged.

If this list of disorders and minority statuses sounds alarming, never fear. Bornstein is funny, flippant, irreverent and witty. We follow Albert as a child in Jersey, a student at Brown, post-graduate studies in theater at Brandeis and the search for meaning that brought him to Scientology; then on his journey to become Kate, through a new life in San Francisco, Seattle and finally New York, with a series of relationships of every arrangement imaginable (and unimaginable). She generally has a good time, especially after becoming Kate, and her story ends on a positive note. Her tone is most serious in discussing the world of Scientology, which she presents as decidedly distressing and wacky, but her voice overall is impertinent and great fun. A Queer and Pleasant Danger is not for the faint-hearted, for reasons that become fairly evident (see: sadomasochism), but is ultimately uplifting, hopeful, even joyous–and always droll.


This review originally ran in the May 11, 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: 6 upheavals.

The Dorothy Parker Audio Collection

Dorothy Parker is a flippin’ hoot. She is hilarious. This was a great way to enjoy her work, too: I enjoyed the variety of narrators, with Cynthia Nixon (yes, of Sex and the City) and Alfre Woodard being my favorites. But they were all great.

This is a collection of Parker’s short stories, mostly, with a few reviews and journalism pieces thrown in. The narrators bring different tones to each piece, which was a great touch. Parker has a distinctive sense of humor: wry, dry, tongue-in-cheek, a little bit dirty here and there, decidedly satirical. She pokes fun at the women of her era (mid-twentieth century) and their ambitions and affectations; her own sex comes under by far the harshest criticism in this collection, at least overtly. But I think, too, that there is a more subtle criticism of society in general hidden in there.

I struggle a little bit when reviewing collections; I don’t want to get into plot summaries of all the component parts, but here are a few for you… The opening story, Big Blonde is both funny and full of pathos; Dusk Before Fireworks excoriates a jealous girlfriend (although her ladies’ man boyfriend doesn’t come out smelling too nicely either). But the One on the Right tickled me to no end – I only regret that it was so short! Pathos, I suppose, is a theme here, because Horsie was almost painful. Just a Little One is an amusing story set in a speakeasy; Cousin Larry and The Game both deal with infidelity again. The Bolt Behind the Blue examines a hypocritical and poisonous “friendship” between two women of different social standings. And these are but a few of the included pieces.

You must experience Dorothy Parker for yourself. This is a great selection, and I hope to get my hands on more. Sad, but oh so funny, too.


Rating: 7 giggles.

Critical Wit Podcast interview: Ian Dille, coauthor of The Price of Gold

Another author interview posted over at Critical Wit Podcast the other day. In this episode, I interview Ian Dille, coauthor with Marty Nothstein of The Price of Gold: The Toll and Triumph of One Man’s Olympic Dream. Nothstein holds two Olympic medals – one gold – and is one of the most highly decorated athletes of all time in the match sprint event in track cycling. That is, racing bicycles on a banked track called a velodrome. This is a sport I have competed in myself, which made the book especially exciting for me; Marty’s name was well-known around the Houston track where I’ve spent a good deal of time. And Ian is a Texas bike racer as well as a journalist, so I was enthused at the chance to chat with him, too. Don’t forget to check out his website here. And now the interview!

me

Ian

book beginnings on Friday: Dead Scared by S.J. Bolton

Thanks to Rose City Reader for hosting this meme. To participate, share the first line or two of the book you are currently reading and, if you feel so moved, let us know what your first impressions were based on that first line.

This week I’m reading an advanced review copy of S.J. Bolton’s latest thriller, Dead Scared, and it is indeed scary. It begins, in the prologue:

Tuesday 22 January (a few minutes before midnight)

When a large object falls from a great height, the speed at which it travels accelerates until the upward force of air resistance becomes equal to the downward propulsion of gravity. At that point, whatever is falling reaches what is known as terminal velocity, a constant speed that will be maintained until it encounters a more powerful force, most commonly the ground.

I’ll leave you to ponder what might be falling.

This quotation comes from an uncorrected advance proof and is subject to change.

did not finish: The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells (audio)

The War of the Worlds is a classic, and H.G. Wells is a respected name. I guess I’d only read his The Invisible Man, as a very young (I had assumed, too young) girl; it didn’t resonate much with me. I thought I’d give him a second chance with this sort of landmark work in early science fiction, and I selected the audio version because of the story attached to its original radio production that caused all that panic when people thought the Martians were *really* attacking. But this one was a fail for me. I quit about halfway through.

First, I’ll give you a partial plot synopsis: Our unnamed narrator-character (not to be confused with the narrator of the audiobook, who will be discussed shortly), a resident of the English countryside, describes what seemed to be falling stars but turn out to be giant cylinders fired from a rocket on Mars. These land, every 24 hours, around London and disgorge Martians, who turn out to be better-armed than the locals, technologically superior, and unfriendly. They operate giant tripod-machines that shoot fire and destroy land, crops, vegetation and people. The Brits try to fight back with their inferior weapons but are getting their butts kicked. And then I stopped listening.

The style of narration was dry. I was easily bored; my mind wandered. I think the audio-narrator, Bill Weideman, was part of my problem. For one thing, he has the odd habit of dropping the occasional leading consonant, like so: “we are ‘ill waiting” (for “still waiting”) and the like. I am perplexed at why you would choose someone with such a strange habit of speech to narrate an audiobook; I was frequently confused as to certain words he pronounced in this manner. Another oddity involved accents. This story is set in England, and when the narrator quotes other characters he gives them an English accent (which by the way seemed excessively nasal and frankly annoyed me), but in the voice of the main-character-narrator, no accent was used (meaning, he sounded American to me). I did not learn, in the half of the book I listened to before giving up, if the narrator was in fact American. But perhaps most generally, Weideman and Wells between them created a monotonous, even soporific effect on me. I couldn’t seem to focus on following the story, as the narrator (in both senses) felt emotionless to me. I can understand how the idea of “total warfare,” total destruction of acres upon acres of land and men and women and children were demolished wholesale in a single sweep of the Martians’ weapons, was shocking to this book’s original audience (1898) and that of the radio drama (1938). But in a world that has seen an atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima, perhaps the impact is lessened.

Of course, as is always the case when I read a Great Classic and do not find myself moved, there is the question of whether there’s something wrong with me: what did I miss? I do not discourage you from trying out this well-known and well-respected book (although I might discourage you from trying Weideman’s audio narration). I hope you like it. I did not.

two-wheeled thoughts: Elizabeth Howard West

two-wheeled thoughts

When man invented the bicycle he reached the peak of his attainments. Here was a machine of precision and balance for the convenience of man. And (unlike subsequent inventions for man’s convenience) the more he used it, the fitter his body became. Here, for once, was a product of man’s brain that was entirely beneficial to those who used it, and of no harm or irritation to others. Progress should have stopped when man invented the bicycle.

–Elizabeth West, Hovel in the Hills

Aside from the unfortunate use of “man” to mean “people,” what a lovely and true statement she makes.

Teaser Tuesdays: The Dorothy Parker Audio Collection

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just open your current read to a random page and share a few sentences. Be careful not to include spoilers!

I am listening to the most delightful collection of Dorothy Parker’s short stories and reviews and the like. Her style of humor is wry and cynical but right up my alley. Here’s your teaser, from the story Dusk Before Fireworks:

“Please don’t call me ‘women,'” she said.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said. “I didn’t mean to use bad words.” He smiled at her. She felt her heart go liquid, but she did her best to be harder won.

Parker is frequently hard on her female characters.


And, bonus: Happy Birthday today to my beloved Bearded Husband!!

A Difficult Woman: The Challenging Life and Times of Lillian Hellman by Alice Kessler-Harris

Lillian Hellman’s paradoxical, powerful personality set against the backdrop of a turbulent century.

Lillian Hellman (1905-1984) was many things: a successful playwright, screenwriter and memoirist; a suspected Communist (maligned as an unrepentant Stalinist) who stood up against political intimidation in the 1950s; a labor organizer and civil rights activist; partner to Dashiell Hammett for more than 30 years; a woman criticized for being manlike and grasping, but simultaneously overly feminine and stylish; a New Orleans-born resident of New York, Hollywood and Martha’s Vineyard who persisted in calling herself a Southerner. She was respected for her literary contributions, hailed as a hero by a feminist movement that she largely rejected, praised and excoriated for her politics and, ultimately, vilified for what came to be seen as the outrageous mendacity of her memoirs. It would be difficult to locate a biographical subject more contradictory or complex. In A Difficult Woman, Alice Kessler-Harris makes an excellent case that Hellman represents the complexities and changing mores of the 20th century.

The contradictions in her personality and politics are brought into relief by her written work–including plays still popular in repertory theater today–which always included strong moral statements. The concepts of truth and deception, or betrayal and loyalty, play large roles in her work and this insightful biography, rich with context, shows how they were also themes that defined her life. Not an apologia, but an exploration of nuances, A Difficult Woman gives us an infinitely more complex Hellman than the popular image that has survived her.


This review originally ran in the May 1, 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: 9 ambiguities.

Saturnalia by Lindsey Davis (audio)

Saturnalia is book 18 in a series, and my first, but it didn’t bother me any. I followed everything just fine. Perhaps the characters would have been richer if I’d been getting to know them progressively better for 18 books (!), but I found them rather well-drawn even in this one.

Our main man (and first-person narrator) is Marcus Didius Falco. He is employed as a “private informer”, which seems to be ancient Rome’s version of a private investigator (at least in Davis’s ancient Rome). He is called in by the government of Vespasian to try and recover an escaped political prisoner, a German woman named Veleda that Falco knew years ago; his brother-in-law Justinus, in fact, had something of a brief romance with her. Now, Veleda has gone missing, a headless corpse has been attributed to her, and in an especially personal twist, Justinus disappears at the same time. His wife is furious, thinking he’s off rekindling an old flame with Veleda. Falco is left searching for both of them – Veleda, for pay and for the sake of the empire (although in secret, as the public is unaware she’d been captured in the first place), and Justinus for the sake of family peace. Add to all this the bacchanalia of Saturnalia, the December holiday in which masters serve their slaves and everything is turned on it ear. Falco attends wild parties, hangs out in graveyards interrogating ghosts, does battle with the Chief Spy (a bumbling government employee with whom he apparently spars regularly), finds the odd lost dog… and carries on a very sweet relationship with his wife, Helena. I liked her addition to the story: she is from a social strata above Falco’s (her father is a senator), and routinely assists him in his investigations. Their relationship is well-done. She’s spunky, intelligent, not to be tamed, but also a doting wife; their home life feels very real and likeable, although I wonder if Helena is not a few centuries ahead of her time.

Which brings me to the historical question(s). I am no scholar of ancient Rome. This world felt real to me, and I was happy being immersed in it for the course of this book, but I cannot speak to the historical accuracy. It was great fun, but I make no promises.

This was a fun mystery. Falco has a great tongue-in-cheek, irreverent, dry humor, and the narrator of this audio version, Christian Rodska, represents that tone well. Saturnalia leans toward the ridiculous, with that straight face that makes such things all the more funny. The historical setting was new to me, but I had a good time with it.


Rating: 4 Roman senators.