Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain - Oliver Sacks

General info: Non-fiction collection of case studies, published in 20007

Storytelling: 6 – This book wasn’t quite what I expected to be. I picked this one up at the library, eager to read a book devoted to music that delved a little bit more into the science of how music works and affects our brains. Instead this book is literally a collection of stories, each devoted to a mental disorder that sometimes has a little bit to do with music and other times is completely about it. It’s mostly about science and unsurprisingly was written by a doctor who happens to be a musician and music-lover. Although there were some interesting parts and I learned a fair bit about mental disorders, I struggled to slog through this book and felt it was lacking a central theme or resolution. It read more like a collection of case studies and less like a unified book.
You’ve got to have some considerable smarts to be a professor of neurology at Columbia, and Sacks has obviously seen and done a lot. This book is chock full of interesting disorders that I would guess most people don’t know about. There are people out there who literally cannot get recurring songs out of their heads, others who can’t stand the sound of music and find it to be mere noise, and children with crippling genetic disorders who also seem to display an unworldly knack for music. Most interesting to me was the portion on absolute pitch and the studies done to see the correlation between musical study at a young age and the likelihood that a person develops perfect pitch. I also love anything and everything having to do with synesthesia, considering I am largely jealous of everyone who has it. (I mean, it’s really the coolest thing ever.) Sacks references some amazing pieces of classical music and it is apparent that he has wonderful respect for professional musicians. He is well connected and has a large amount of material, so it’s no wonder he was able to compile a book like this.
However, what irked me the most was how dry and impersonal the narrative was. Sacks attempts to express compassion for his patients, but it isn’t delivered correctly and I feel that he’s looking at all these individuals simply as walking science experiments. He’d offer a sentence or two on their personalities and preferences and then he’d spend paragraphs discussing the complex workings of their brains. This book could have done with more critical editing, but I feel like Sacks has developed such a name for himself that his editors probably let him go on automatic. He also only ever seems to discuss classical music, or classical musicians who’ve been affected, and there also seems to be a lot of name dropping. I would have enjoyed more variety and a great deal more feeling, or perhaps I just do not have a scientific enough mind to truly appreciate what Sacks was getting at here.

Writing: 6 – Sacks is obviously an enormously intelligent man, and I can’t imagine that most doctors are as well-written as he is. This is likely the reason he has carved out a fun little niche for himself in the non-fiction world and has had so much success. So, for this I give him major points. I don’t believe I’ve ever read a book written by a doctor, so Sacks gets major points from me for being able to effectively create so much with both sides of his brain.
But, as I mentioned earlier, for the most part I wasn’t captivated or moved by what Sacks was writing. There were a few shining moments in the text where he captures the feelings one feels when they hear a really amazing musician in their element, or when one witnesses someone transcending their crippling illness by performing or focusing on an amazing piece. These moments were moving and heart-rending, but they were also few and far between. There would be a fleeting glimpse and then, boom, back to some gibber-gabber on the parietal lobe. The narrative also felt really chopped up and didn’t flow well. Again, some effective editing would have done wonders here.

Characters: 5 – I loved the various patients that Sacks discusses throughout this book, but I never really felt like I could effectively get to know them! Sacks would mention someone, go over their affliction, maybe mention the course of treatment, and then he’d be on to the next subject. I would have much more preferred that he select a few studies, or a few patients, and really go in depth. There were so many names and mental afflictions that by the end of the book, my head was spinning.
I felt like Sacks did incorporate enough detail in two places: when discussing Clive with severe amnesia and with Louis who suffers from a rare form of dementia. I felt with these two cases he spent a sufficient amount of time discussing their daily lives and how their ailments affect them and are aided or expressed by music. I enjoyed these sections and felt like I could understand Louis and Clive’s lives and get into their heads a little bit (frighteningly), but these were only two small sections of a rather large book. I was left feeling a little strange for having learned so much about their illnesses without knowing any more about them as people.

Best part: I really did enjoy the section about synesthesia. Stack mentions a few people who are “affected” with this disorder and he asks them to explain which color they see when music is played in a certain key. No two people are the same, and they all have different explanations why D major is blue or G-sharp minor has a different flavor to it. Some people also affiliate flavors with intervals, and others see different colors for days of the week. The variety and specificity of all these experiences amazes me.

Recommend to: Scientists who enjoy music. I’m not sure I’d recommend this to musicians who enjoy science; they might have the same reaction I did.

Reminded me of: Again, having never read a book written by a doctor and having not read much non-fiction about music, I really can’t liken this book to anything else.

How I would murder the main character: Since there isn’t a main character, I’ll just decide on a good murder plot for the author, which would probably mean forcing him to listen to some pop music and then making him read a Danielle Steele novel. That would likely make his head explode.

Sexy parts: No sexiness in this book, but I was moved by the devoted spouses who stick with their increasingly ill loved ones. Very sweet.

To sum it up: An interesting but fairly tedious collection of case studies examining the impact of music on the brain.

Overall: 5.5

Beatrice and Virgil - Yann Martel

General info: Novella, published in 2010

Storytelling: 5 – I, as well as the rest of Western society, absolutely loved Life of Pi, so it was only a matter of time before I picked up Martel’s next book. A monkey and a donkey? That sounds pretty interesting and refreshing to me, particularly because I’m such an avid animal lover.
Oh dear Lord I was so off.
This book was similar to watching a horrific car accident. I’m not afraid to admit that I can sometimes take interest in some pretty weird things, and I think people truly are drawn to the morbid and macabre. (My sister and I both know way more about serial killers than most people would, and I’m proud of the way we own up to this sick fascination.) I mean, look at how popular horror movies are. Anyway, I digress, but my point is that this book is like a horror movie that you truly don’t see coming and is wrapped up in an artistic facade….if that makes any sense. I couldn’t decide if I kind of liked it or if I absolutely loathed it, and it was a book that left me completely bewildered. I will warn you, read no further if you plan to read this book, because I’m totally going to ruin it (as I do in all my reviews I suppose).
Martel tells the story of Henry, an author struggling after the success of his first book and trying to duplicate it with his second. The first half of the novella drags significantly as Henry writes a book about the Holocaust that gets ripped apart by his team who refuses to publish it. Lost and confused, he gives up writing and moves off to some unknown city, where he meets a particularly unfriendly and quirky taxidermist who elicits his help with a play he’s writing. Henry, weirdly, takes to this taxidermist (ALSO named Henry), becomes fascinated with his play, and agrees to help him a little bit. This play is about a monkey, Virgil, and a donkey, Beatrice, and they are starving, afraid, and alone while wandering the mostly deserted landscape of a gigantic shirt. Yes, a shirt.
…what?
Originality goes a long way with me, and I love Martel’s quirky use of animals, so I stuck with this bit. As the story develops we realize that Beatrice and Virgil are on the run from unspeakable horrors and stand witness to some remarkably awful things. Henry gets very confused and then finally it clicks for him: this play is about the Holocaust! And lo and behold, the old taxidermist is a murderous awful Nazi who’s been in hiding all these years, and as soon as Henry makes it clear to him that he knows, he gets stabbed! As Henry runs bleeding from the shop, the taxidermist sets the shop on fire and perishes in the flames!
…what?!?
I have a lot of issues with this story. First and foremost, it’s unnecessarily graphic and really disturbing. There are some images from this book that I’ll never be able to get out of my mind. This might be because I am a huge animal lover and any harm done to animals stirs up weird feelings in me, much moreso than harm done to humans even. But I think Martel just really misses the mark in many ways. It’s only sort of about the Holocaust, and I think instead of making a statement, it just makes you feel really dirty. This content was so random and off base that I just found myself getting increasingly angry at Martel. Most offensive of all, he includes a list of game cards (purportedly “played” by Virgil in Beatrice) that are not game-like at all and propose awful decisions that one might make during the Holocaust. Ugh. Why torment your readers so much?
However, the “what-ifs” are really what grab you and make you think that maybe this book isn’t completely a loss. For example, the genius stroke of naming both characters Henry. What if it was in fact the same person, and Henry 1 was just imagining all of this the whole time? (Martel did something similar to his readers in Life of Pi) What was the taxidermist really aiming at stabbing Henry and then committing a fiery suicide? Was it to get his story told in a different way? Was the use of a story within a story master trickery or just Martel being a little lazy? What was this story really about?
All-in-all, I just feel tremendously confused about this whole experience. Not a good way to come off a book, even if it is a new sensation.

Writing: 7 – Overall I really treasure Martel as a writer, and I think the first word that comes to mind regarding his prose is ‘fresh’. I typically gravitate to flowery, slightly overwrought writing, but Martel is succinct and charming, which I don’t think you find with many other people. It’s easy to digest and relatable, and since his ideas are so deep, the juxtaposition turns out to be purely magical. There is a scene in the play where Virgil is describing a pear to Beatrice, who has never had one. This happens to be the first scene that Henry reads of the play, and there is no double why he is immediately hooked; this writing is poetic mastery and I had to go back and read it a handful of times, just to enjoy it again and again.
However, in this story Martel got pretty off-base in a few places. He seems to jump around a fair bit, and I found some of his paragraphs a little difficult to follow. The content is easy enough, but I think Martel truly was artistically a little lost during this book. Additionally, he keeps referencing other texts ad nauseum. In a way this makes sense since the main character is an author, but after awhile it just gets exhausting. I get that he’s trying to hint at other larger themes of these works, but how much work do you expect your reader to do? I can’t go out and read all of this other stuff you are suggesting on every other page.

Characters: 8 – I do truly love Martel’s use of animals, and I’ve heard him explain that he uses animals because we are less cynical about them than we are about humans, which I absolutely agree with. In this story Martel not only uses animals in the context of Beatrice and Virgil, but there is an interesting development when Henry’s dog gets infected with rabies and attacks their cat. Both animals have to be put down in a truly heartbreaking way (allegory, anyone?) and I found myself equal parts horrified and compelled by this twist. Sure, animals complement almost all other writing, but Martel let’s them take center stage here (as with Life of Pi). I don’t know any other authors who really effectively do this for an adult audience, so I applaud Martel for his originality.
Additionally, I enjoyed the usage of the two Henrys. The taxidermist is quite a gruff jerk with almost no manners to speak of, but why is Henry so compelled by him? Don’t we all have a little bit of a soft spot for people who can be real jerks to us? Why is this? Do we think that we can somehow change them? I think Martel was really striking at something here. Overall, although he slipped up a few times with his very odd usage of all characters involved, he crafted them in a very interesting and new way.

Best part: Although I truly loved reading the pear scene for the first time, the end also completely floored me. (I think at that point I texted my boyfriend “Babe! What the hell is going on in my book?!”.) I loved the pear scene between Virgil and Beatrice for its artistic beauty and the finale for its shock value.

Recommend to: People who have a strong stomach for graphic violence and can appreciate an odd tale.

Reminded me of: A dark disturbing version of Wizard of Oz.

How I would murder the main character: I would infect him with rabies and smother him with his own shirt.

Sexy parts: There was absolutely nothing even remotely sexy about this story. Henry’s wife is pregnant, which suggests passion (obviously) but this part of the plot didn’t even really make much sense to me.

To sum it up: A distressing tale about the Holocaust told in an inventive but overly graphic way.

Overall: 7

The War of the Worlds - H.G. Wells

General info: Science fiction novel, published in 1898

Storytelling: 9 – This book astounded me a little. Not only was this one of the first novels to depict a frighteningly real alien invasion, it also predicted the development of weaponry in the 20th century, offered up a convincing commentary on imperialism and Social Darwinism, and inspired hundreds of directors and authors to re-create or re-imagine similar events. Not many stories have had that large of an impact, and I think the fact that Wells did this a hundred years ago is truly remarkable.
This book starts with a large canister crash landing in southeast England, which excites and confuses the local residents. Shortly thereafter, the townsfolk figure out that some grotesque looking Martians are the one tinkering around loudly in it, and they are not too friendly. This is when all hell breaks loose, the huge machine starts decimating everything (and everyone) with its powerful heat ray, and it rises out of the ground to further the destruction and move about on tripod legs. Meanwhile, every 24-hours, another canister/tripod crash lands in England, eventually amounting to ten machines that move toward London and kill everyone in sight. They also light a lot of things on fire and come equipped with poisonous black smoke. Good luck, Earthlings.
Now, I love a good sci-fi story, but Wells makes this a truly unique one by making it somewhat scientifically accurate and pretty realistic, even to a 21st century reader. He talks about how Martians would be particularly sluggish dealing with Earth’s gravity, he tries his best to analyze the mechanical workings of the Martian machines, and he examines their motives by explaining how Mars has become a decimated “used up” planet. I also find it fascinating the a hundred years ago Wells was predicting the use of lasers and mustard gas, as well as hinting that we’d better start treating our planet with respect before we use it up. He also disturbingly talks about how the Martians target humans as a source of food by sucking out blood directly and putting it into their own veins. Gross and awesome.
But look at all that’s going on here. Martians have become too lazy even to exist without their machines and they've evolved to the point that they can't even to digest anything. Wells seems to be suggesting that we’re heading in a similar direction. Written during the height of British imperialism, this book is also opening England’s eyes to the fact that they have not been terribly respectful to the populations and cultures that they’ve conquered, just as the Martians aren’t being too great to humans. As an American this book makes me question what my life would be like if I wasn’t living in a tremendously powerful country, or even if I wasn’t at the top of the food chain. Wells’s story strongly implies that we need to have a great deal more respect for the little guys and our own planet. He’s also incredibly funny when he’s putting this into perspective, explaining that the Martians eating habits might seem gross to us, but look at our own eating habits from the perspective of a rabbit. He also likens human ignorance of the Martian invasion to a pair of now-extict dodos having nonchalantly believed that they would bide their time and just attack their assailants tomorrow. He presents these comparisons with a dry wit that delivers his point effectively and makes you laugh at yourself.
My one small complaint with this story is that it doesn’t make much sense to me that the Martians would only target southeast England, and for the reader to have any idea where the main characters are, they have to have a map of England laid out in front of them. Wells assumes that all of his readers are intimately aware of every small town, road, and landmark in London, so it gets terribly confusing at times. GoogleMaps couldn’t even help me with the locations sometimes, the details were so minute.

Writing: 7 – Wells writes this book in a journalistic style, which is fine and all, but it was a definite departure from what I’m used to. At times this approach made it feel a little unemotional. I realize that’s the style Wells was most comfortable with, but when dealing with the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of people and the ruin of an entire country, a novel-length depiction of fact after fact starts to feel a little unnerving. However, the journalistic feel might be what made the novel so poignant. It felt realistic and reinforced the issues that Wells was commenting on. I believe it was the writing that makes the reader truly feel that this might happen someday, and would we really be prepared for it?
The story moves along quickly enough, and the main character covers a lot of ground wandering around worrying about the fate of his brother and his wife and wondering what to do next. I find this approach realistic, as I don’t think anyone would really know what to do in this situation. Wells also breaks off for a few chapters to discuss the fate of the brother, who tries to depart England by sea only to be pursued by one of the tripods. (This perfectly addresses the question: why doesn’t everyone just leave for France?) Each character has a collection of unique adventures that engages the reader and holds your attention. The use of detail does get a bit wearisome at times, but again that might just be the journalism thing.

Characters: 8 – There are in fact very few characters really used in this book and there isn’t much character development, but since it’s not really the aim of the book, I can understand that. You can only really see into the mind of the narrator and his fears and thought processes become realistic enough. He struck me as a curious and intelligent man who wants to fight to survive. It's obvious that this character is modeled after Wells himself.
Other peripheral characters were the main characters wife (I don’t think you ever figure out anyone’s real name), a soldier, an insane clergyman, the brother, two women the brother travels with, and assorted colleagues who die horrible deaths. The two most interesting of all these were the clergyman and the soldier.
The main character is trapped in a basement with the clergyman for about two weeks, during which time he gets to observe unseen and up close the intimate workings of the Martians. The clergyman whines relentlessly, seems to have no strength of character, and starts to selfishly eat all the rations. At one point he shouts out loudly enough so as to attract Martian attention, so the narrator has to knock him out and hide in the basement while the Martians drag away the clergyman’s body and search the house. (This makes you wonder, what is the just and moral thing to do in a similar situation? What would you yourself have done if locked in the basement with an insane man?)
The narrator runs into the soldier after he has escaped the basement and is on the run toward London. The soldier seems to have it in his mind that humans can hide underground in the London sewers and learn the Martian machinery well enough to eventually be able to fight back. He lays out his intricate plan of attack and though at first seduced by this idea, the narrator quickly realizes that this man is just as unhinged as the clergyman and is quickly on his way.
Wells’s characters experience the gamut of human reaction when faced with such an impossibly devastating situation. Perhaps the book was too short to dive into their development as much as I would have liked, or Wells was aiming to elucidate on other elements more. Either way they were effective vehicles for a great story.

Best part: Call me a sap, but I have to say the very end. The narrator is able to safely return home after it is discovered that all of the Martians have died due to common Earth germs. (Respect for the little guy!) Going to the only place he knows to, he walks into his house and is greeted by his wife, who he had not heard any news of since the initial attack. Call me cliché but I loved this little, slightly predictable detail.

Recommend to: My historically and politically minded friends.

Reminded me of: Dracula by Bram Stoker. I found the blend of scientifically analysis + radical and creative storytelling a little similar.

How I would murder the main character: I’d probably strangle him with some Martian Red Weed (a native plant to Mars that quickly starts to thrive on Earth) and throw him into the Thames for providing way too many details about specific locations in London.

Sexy parts: Not so much the aim of the book, unless you count the narrators love for his wife. That’s about all I’ve got for this one.

To sum it up: Creepily insightful and craftily intelligent tale about otherworld invaders.

Overall: 8

The Marriage Plot - Jeffrey Eugenides

General info: Novel, published in 2011

Storytelling: 9 - So, first and foremost, I need to point out that Middlesex by Eugenides could very well be my favorite book of all time. I remember reading it first at the tender age of 16, and over the past decade I’ve re-read it multiple times. My original copy (still one of my most prized possessions) is tattered and covered with notes written in glitter gel pen. So, as soon as I heard my beloved Eugenides was finally coming out with another book, I ran to Barnes & Noble the day it came out and dove into the book immediately. I naturally had high hopes for this novel, and approached it excitedly and a bit apprehensively.
In a nutshell, I think Eugenides wanted to craft a clever story about his time in undergrad at Brown in the 1980’s. He centers his story around three main characters: Madeleine Hanna, a wealthy English major from New Jersey who is understood to be very good-looking and a bit of a hopeless romantic; Leonard Bankhead, the enigmatic manic depressive scientist from Portland who starts dating Madeleine halfway through their senior year; and Mitchell Grammaticus, a quirky Religious Studies major from Detroit (this is Eugenides’ first novel not set in Detroit, which is his and my hometown) who decides early on in college that Madeleine is his dream girl, and he is going to marry her. The book starts on graduation day and follows these three individuals during their first year after college, with a heavy dose of flashbacks added in to explain key developments.
Firstly, I loved the way Eugenides weaves a story that’s perfectly ordinary but makes it all seem completely bizarre. (I feel like he did the opposite in Middlesex and made the bizarre seem ordinary, but I need to let go of that). These characters don’t go out and do anything terribly eccentric, save for Mitchell’s time volunteering at a hospital in India, but even that is something I could see many kids straight out of college doing. These play tennis, go out for coffee, argue with each other, and drink too much. I think Eugenides’ biggest challenge was making the typical college experience interesting and fresh, and I think he succeeded. I found myself captivated by the turn of seemingly-mundane events, wondering where all the characters end up in the end.
I also felt myself longing for my own college experience and thinking frequently back on how I’d behaved and felt about the world when I was 21. Eugenides drummed up this nostalgia without hammering me over the head with it. Also, I liked that the novel wasn’t strictly chronological. He leaves the reader guessing a few times about how characters have gotten to certain places. For example, why Leonard and Madeline break up for a period their senior year, or why Madeline is upset with Mitchell when the novel starts. I think incorporating flashbacks can be tricky for an author, but I think Eugenides perfected the timing here.
However, although I was largely captivated by the story, it did drag quite a bit. The beginning section is almost painfully slow, as Madeleine is preparing for her graduation, and it takes far too many pages of preamble to explain the nitty-gritty. The novel finally picked up after a bit, but I spent the first portion of the book pretty worried. Additionally, while he’s plodding along, Eugenides started to get a little too fixated on his college experience and couldn’t stop referencing works and authors that were popular on liberal college campuses in the 80’s. He must have referenced 50+ authors, essays, schools of thought, blah blah blah. I appreciate an artistic sprinkling, but instead this effort detracted from the story made it seem as if he was trying to prove something. Unfortunately, I was disappointed at Eugenides’ lack of focus many times throughout the story.

Writing: 8 – Eugenides is a fantastic writer, and I think most of all I love him for his syntax. He is a big fan of lengthy, cleverly descriptive sentences, and this approach combined with his wit makes me adore him. I credit authors who don’t hold back and write what they want to; there is far too much writing out there today that is catering to the lowest common denominator, just to sell more books. I’d much rather be stimulated and have to perhaps go back and re-read a sentence again, just to appreciate the beauty of the structure or an elegant turn of phrase. Eugenides also has a vast vocabulary that he shows off frequently, and I had to keep dictionary.com pulled up on my Iphone for a fair bit of this novel. I love it when an author presents me with a decent challenge that is just hard enough to engage me.
Also, Eugenides can thread together words completely unlike anyone I’ve read before. The sentence that struck me most in this book was when Mitchell is climbing up the steps into the dome of Sacre Coer in France, Eugenides likens his ascent to liquid being drawn into a syringe. I love me a good, slightly wacky analogy, and Eugenides is loaded with them.
However, similar to my critique for Storytelling, Eugenides gets a little too full of himself in this novel. His overly abundant name dropping and his lagging pace, I think, extend both to the Story and to the Writing. I just couldn’t get over this oversight of his. Perhaps his editor was too enamored from his success from Middlesex that he figured Eugenides should be allowed to do whatever he wants. This book would have almost been absolute perfection if it had just been slimmed down a little bit.

Characters: 8 – Analyzing the character development in this book is a little tricky for me, considering I feel like I am just a few years shy of college. Typically I read books that place me out of my comfort zone and help me to understand a time or place I otherwise wouldn’t, but as I said previously, this story did wonders by making the ordinary seem not so.
Anyway, first and foremost, I was not a huge fan of Madeleine. Although Eugenides tries to make her relatable and interesting, she seems completely boring to me, entitled, lost, and slightly pathetically attached to Leonard. I am usually a fan of flawed characters, but for example, after graduation, the wayward and confused Madeleine agrees to go with Leonard to Cape Cod where he is to complete an internship at a lab. There, Eugenides seems to argue that she is doing it to figure out her next steps, and then lo and behold, she’s lonely and doesn’t have much to do. Now, although I myself and many of my friends were lost souls in the months after college, none of us were lost enough to have willingly packed up and moved to a remote destination with our boyfriend, just for lack of something else to do. I feel like this especially wouldn't be the case for an intelligent Ivy-league graduate. I kind of got the feeling that Eugenides didn’t know quite how to write the female figures in this book. Madeleine was boring to me, and then all the other females (Madeleine’s mother, Madeleine’s sister, Leonard’s mother, Mitchell’s friend’s girlfriend) all seemed like unrealistic and overly-dramatic caricatures. There were a few surprising moments and interesting developments, but for the most part I felt really underwhelmed with how the female characters were crafted.
On the flip side, I loved Mitchell and Leonard and the way they developed through the novel. Mitchell, also confused after graduation (Eugenides is correct to assume that every person, post-graduation, is completely lost and wandering) takes off for Europe and India with his still-in-the-closet friend, mostly to “find himself” and figure out who God is. Sure, I could fault him a little for being in love with Miss Boring, but the endearing way he often puts his foot in his mouth, second guesses himself, stresses about his religious beliefs, and tries too hard to succeed are what made him seem real and relatable. He absolutely struck me as a young guy fresh out of an Ivy League education and someone I might befriend.
Leonard, meanwhile, was portrayed brilliantly as a struggling manic depressive. I applaud Eugenides for bringing this disease so effectively to light, in an age where mental illness is still an oft debated topic and many people are still mostly confused. Eugenides brilliantly gets in the head of someone who sways slowly between glittering mania and all-consuming dark depression. Leonard comes from an extremely dysfunctional family and doesn’t have the means that most Brown students do, so he places added pressure on himself and mistakenly thinks twice throughout the novel that going off his lithium is the way to success. He is complex and ultimately likeable, even though he is a madman and an absolute jerk at times. I think dealing with a serious illness was the necessary spark of weirdness that Eugenides needs in each of his novels, having previously dealt with virgin suicides and being a hermaphrodite. Bravo, monsieur.

Best part: While Mitchell is volunteering for Mother Theresa at a hospital in India, he has somehow gotten away with being exempt from the less desirable tasks. Namely, this means bathing the decrepit and dying patients. Finally, one day, he helps another volunteer bathe an old man who is suffering from a gigantic tumor on his genitals. He carries him to the wash room and helps to bathe, clothe and return him to his bed. Mitchell feels quite accomplished. Shortly thereafter, he passes by a patient who happens to speak English, who confesses that he has to take a shit, just as a non-English speaking volunteer approaches him and starts to lather his face for a shave. Mitchell panics, no one is in sight, and the man starts to scream “I’m shitting!” (still in his bed, mind you). Doing what I imagine anyone would do, and even though he will live to regret it, Mitchell makes his decision and walks out the front door of the hospital, never to return again.
I think the absurdity and humanness of this series of events struck me as brilliant. I also love the collection of details that Eugenides employs. It feels like real life, though it’s totally strange.

Recommend to: College students, who need to understand how bewildering those first few post-grad years are going to be!

Reminded me of: a cross between Tom Woolf’s I Am Charlotte Simmons plus writing by Dave Eggers, but a hundred times better executed and more artfully done than either of those authors could manage.

How I would murder the main character: I would steal Madeleine’s Saab and run her down in the street, preferably while she’s wearing her Kennedy-esque tennis gear.

Sexy parts: Once Leonard decides to start lowering his dosage of lithium on his own and his sex drive returns, he and Madeleine start having lots of sex. Eugenides is descriptive about how frequently and often they are doing it, all over their apartment. There are a few other key sexy moments, including ones involving masturbation and drunken behavior at parties, but I think these are artfully done and not lewd.

To sum it up: Although it misses the mark in a handful of ways, this is a delightful and bizarre tale about a pivotal time.

Overall: 8.5

The Book Thief - Marcus Zusak

General info: Young adult novel, published in 2005

Storytelling: 5.5 – Having been a German major and someone who lived in Europe for a year, I’ve learned a fair bit about World War II and the Holocaust, and I always appreciate a story that attempts to uncover an authentic perspective from that time. It infuriates me when people assume that all Germans in the 30’s and 40’s were blood-thirsty Nazis who were bent on murdering and conquering everyone. Sure, there were definitely many bad apples, but for the most part I think Germany had been cruelly kicked to the curb after WWI, wasn’t really thinking clearly, got carried away listening to a guy with an atrocious mustache, and woke up one morning in a really horrific situation. Anyway, I digress, but this is main thing I appreciated about Zusak’s book here: the attempt at authenticity.
Zusak’s tale is told from the perspective of Death, which I thought was creatively inspired and unique. He tells the story of Leisel, a pre-teen living on the outskirts of Munich during the war. She, along with most of the members of her community, are the “good Germans”, and he weaves a delightful but heart-breaking tale about the little heroine who learns how to read at the age of ten and starts stealing books because she loves words and reading. This book was in many ways not your traditional young-adult novel, and I enjoyed how Zusak did not gloss over the gory details. For example, the book starts with Leisel’s little brother dying en route to Munich where their mother is handing her children over to foster parents because she is likely to be taken away for her pro-Communist leanings. Leisel never sees her real mother again, and her new foster mother routinely beats her and insults her. She spends the next four years poor and hungry, often confused and scared, until the book weirdly climaxes with the bombing of her neighborhood and the death of most everyone she knows, including her foster parents. However, those are just the sad parts, and there was a great deal of joy and triumph mixed in as well (namely regarding her relationship with her loving and upstanding foster father) and the story ends with Leisel being taken in by the town major and being reunited with the Jewish man her foster family hides in their basement for a few years. However…
I had a lot of issues with the story, even though I ultimately thought it was a good one. Firstly, the book thief nonsense started to not make much sense to me, especially because Zusak attempted to make it about her love for words. Leisel does steal a few books (one from a Nazi burning rally, a few more from the major’s library) but the attempt to make it the centralized theme of the book seemed really weak and contrived. Death goes on and on and on about how she’s about to steal a book because she just loves words so much, but I feel like the character Zusak actually creates with Leisel is just another grubby kid who’d rather go play soccer in the mud or steal apples from an orchard than sit inside reading. It doesn’t line up somewhere.
Also, Zusak’s blunt-force foreshadowing really got on my nerves. Halfway through the book, you realize that Leisel’s parents and closest friends are all going to die (Death talks about when he gets to “meet” them) but I don’t feel like it added to the suspense or made the creative experience richer. And duh, if all the people on a city block suddenly die, and they’re not Jewish, it will be because of a bombing raid. I think I could have deduced that one even without the German major.
Finally, some of the story’s details didn’t really line up historically. During the war, if there was even the faintest suspicion that you sympathized with Jews, the Nazis would have made your life a living hell and strip searched your house multiple times. In this story, they Nazis mostly just ignore Hans (Leisel’s foster father) until he really pisses them off by offering a piece of bread to a Jewish prisoner. Only then does he get sent off to do search and rescue missions in Stuttgart. Yea right. They would have sent him barefoot to Stalingrad or thrown him in jail. They also would not have searched his house one measly time to see if it would be an adequate bomb shelter and not noticed the Jewish man hiding under the stairs. COME ON. I would understand if Zusak was doing this to soften it a little bit to make it appropriate for younger readers, but a few chapters later everyone dies in a pile of rubble. I’m not buying it.

Writing: 7 – I don’t really have much to say about Zusak’s writing, aside from the fact I felt it was perfectly adequate and at times even clever. Writing from Death’s perspective was a stroke of genius, I think, and was what made this book unique when compared to other similar works. (Now that we’re multiple generations past WWII, I feel like more and more books are coming out about the time period because it’s a bit safer and less painful to talk about.) Death offered his perspective and his activities occasionally, but he didn’t overwhelm the reader with some weird macabre, malevolent vibe. I quite enjoyed this Death character and his frequent use of synesthesia to describe his surroundings. He seemed to be a romantic, considerate guy who was just tired of doing his job and running around Europe collecting so many souls so quickly.
Zusak can write well, and his writing is undoubtedly super flowery and poetic, which I’m always a fan of, but it wasn’t as rich or as compelling as I would have liked. Again, this might just be the young adult thing, seeing as I can’t see your average 15-year-old appreciating something too deep. And although Zusak’s story matter was darker, you can tell he’s an author with a sense of humor and an awareness of children. I can understand how this book would appeal greatly to your average reader, but to me it was nothing mind-blowing or life-changing, as all the reviews told me it would be. It was simply a nice story by a good author.

Characters: 5 – First and foremost, this story did not make me cry. And I am a fan of a good cry, and I am a huge fan of kids. It was tragic, and it was meant to be heart-wrenching, but at most all I could really manage was a good frown. For this, I blame Zusak’s characters, and I’ll elucidate with some analysis.
Leisel is your average, perfectly uninteresting 10-year-old as the book starts, and I never really found myself opening up to her as the pages went by. As a child I was the biggest book lover/reader on the market, which is what Zusak was trying to make Leisel out to be, but I never found myself identifying with her. She also, in many ways, seemed to act a little too mature for her age. For example, she’s perfectly fine eating the same thing every night for dinner when rations get limited (I suppose this is because other friends of hers have nothing to eat at all…but still), and her witty one-liners and general demeanor when dealing with older kids smacks of a confidence that is evidenced nowhere else in the book. Something about Leisel just felt slightly off.
Her foster parents, Hans and Rosa, are equally as bland. Hans is, from the get-go, described to be one of those perfectly understated and humble good guys who never lets anyone down, has a heart of gold, does the right thing, blah blah blah. He’s a great father to Leisel and his love for cigarettes, playing the accordion, and teaching his daughter to read in the wee hours of the morning should make him interesting, but he wasn’t. Rosa, who was mildly more interesting with her hot-temper and violent tongue, was described by Death at the end as truly being an exceptional person for having taken in a foster child and a Jewish man, no questions asked. He also attests several times that though she was seemingly cruel, Rosa did love her foster child a great deal. I get that there are some kooky parents out there, but one does not usually show love by berating her child and beating her with a wooden spoon. This seemed to be some weirdo attempt of Zusak’s to add some spice in, and it missed the mark.
The only character I truly liked and appreciated was Leisel’s snarky and troublesome best friend, Rudy. He was well-rounded, flawed, and adorable, and his unrequited childhood love for Leisel was passable. Rudy’s antics and his constant need for approval are human and heart-breaking. He is a perfect nitwit sometimes, gets beat up often and thoroughly, and drags Leisel into all manner of questionable activities, but by golly I really liked him. His death was the only one that almost brought a wee tear to my eye.
Zusak’s characterization, for the most part, was very flat and undeveloped. Even the Jewish man that Hans and Rosa house, Max, left me feeling completely bloodless. (While locked away, all he seems to fantasize about is boxing Hitler in a ring. Not about his family, or a lost love, or freedom…about symbolic boxing. Again, I don’t buy it) I love leaving a book and missing the characters because I’ve grown quite attached to them, but that did not happen here. Zusak had some good material to use and was writing about one of the most heart-wrenching times in human history, but my heart remained uninvolved due to his lack of depth.

Best part: Before meeting Leisel and right around the time of Hitler’s 1936 Olympics, Rudy decides to pain his entire body with charcoal and run around the local track screaming that he’s Jesse Owens. He does this until his father comes to stop him and explains it’s perhaps not the best idea to be celebrating a black man in Nazi Germany. I love this little plotline so much. It properly conveys how children look to their heroes for the right reasons and don’t let prejudice get in the way, which I think is what everyone in Germany needed a reminder of during that time.

Recommend to: High schoolers who are taking European history for the first time and are in need of a little well-rounded perspective.

Reminded me of: A young adult version of Hans Fallada’s Every Man Dies Alone, which is a terrific book, inspired by a true story, that talks about the activities of decent Germans in Berlin during WWII.

How I would murder the main character: Although it’s not Leisel’s fault she was bland and two-dimensional, I’d punish her by boiling her in a gigantic vat of pea soup and making her sing Deutschland Über Alles.

Sexy parts: Given that this was intended for young adults, the most scandalous it ever got was when Rudy would bug Leisel to give him a kiss. She never let him, even though nearer the end she almost wanted to (aka: she finally hit puberty). After the bombing when Rudy is found dead, Leisel does finally plant one on his lips, while crying all over him. Although I’m sure Zusak meant for this to be a touching moment, I found it rather gross and predictable.

To sum it up: A well-intended and well-written account of the Holocaust that unfortunately fails to elicit the appropriate response.

Overall: 6

The Rainbow - D.H. Lawrence

General info: Novel, published in 1915 (and banned in an obscenity trial later that year)

Storytelling: 6 - This is my first foray into D.H. Lawrence, and I’ve come out of this book feeling a bit bewildered. I decided to start here because it’s one of his first works and is also the prequel to Women in Love. Being a fairly organized individual, I like to keep things chronological when I can, and I assumed I’d read more by him.
Diving in, I was a bit put off in the first few pages by the fact that Lawrence isn’t much a fan of plot. In fact, he throws plot almost completely out the window, and 75% of this novel is his in-depth analysis of the passionate and disparate emotions of his three main characters: Tom Brangwen, his step-daughter Anna Brangwen, and her eldest daughter Ursula Brangwen. The very British Brangwen family has lived in Nottinghamshire for as long as anyone can remember, and Lawrence spends 400 pages spanning four decades through the eyes of these three characters. The story is loosely laced in, and there are even a few exciting moments, but it’s apparent that weaving a tale isn’t necessarily why Lawrence is hailed as a genius. Sure, I love me a good saga, but as someone who admittedly adores epics above all else, I found myself getting a little bored. This was not a book that I sailed through with ease, and after nineteen paragraphs about Ursula’s conflicted feelings regarding her to-be-or-not-to-be fiancé, I felt myself wanting to scream “GET ON WITH IT!” and fling the book across the street. (He ends up a not-to-be fiancé, which I’m guessing is what paves the way for Women in Love)
However, being a benevolent book reviewer, I will acknowledge the fact that there are some people who love this, and Lawrence most likely wouldn’t be a household name if he were a novelist who completely couldn’t tell a story. I will also acknowledge the fact that Lawrence was a lot more radical and blasphemous (and perhaps, compelling?) to the turn-of-the-century British reader than he is to this jaded 21st century girl. I didn’t bat an eyelash at the thought of Ursula having premarital sex, but I can understand that turn-of-the-century London would have been screaming bloody murder. So, although I was disappointed by the lack of a spicy plotline, I will only place a little bit of the blame on Lawrence. I’m reading this book a century too late, and I’m also unabashedly biased toward more fantastical works.

Writing: 9 – Ok THIS is why D.H. Lawrence is a household name; the man makes love to the English language. He can wax poetic for pages about a passionate exchange or a lingering moment without ever coming up for air. He crafts sentences with such care and delicacy that I can understand why he simply had to write like this, even if it was so controversial at the time. This material was coming out of him in buckets. (This is perhaps why, since I am so unaccustomed, I left this book feeling a bit sideways) While I was well aware that Lawrence is a highly sexualized writer, I was surprised by how sensual his writing was and his mastery of the complicated blend of love and hate.
Lawrence’s sensuality was pervasive to a surprising degree. Whether he was talking about farming, family dynamics, the weather, the waves at the beach, etc. Lawrence was crafting his words with a tenderness that I appreciated. I personally thought sex played into it very little, and sensuality took the lead, which was something I have never experienced before as a reader.
Additionally, while he was doing all of this, I was also alarmed at how well he identifies the conflicting and painful emotions that people can feel when they are deeply in lust or love. Lawrence loves to strip his characters down until they are completely emotionally naked, and then he dives in for a few pages to examine all the nuances. He especially loves to examine that ever-so fine line that exists between love and hate, which I think we all can understand. When someone becomes so critical to your life, and they disappoint you or anger you in some horrendous way, I believe we all can identify with the depth of emotion that you can sink to in your most trying moments. Reading a billion pages about this felt uncomfortable at points (I can’t imagine having been someone who knew him…or was loved by him...) but he did so with respect and with precision. The words would roll along languidly, spilling into each other, and although there were a few times where I didn’t know what the hell was going on, I attribute this to the dreamlike state the Lawrence puts you in. His writing is like a deep-tissue massage that you’re a little terrified of. It was a wholly new experience and one that I ultimately enjoyed a great deal.

Characters: 6 – It was apparent to me from the get-go that Lawrence’s characters were everything to him, and that their development was ultimately his hardest work. For the most part, I appreciated this and congratulate him for his efforts, but I think he went a little bit overboard in a few ways.
Although I met a variety of characters in this book, his three main players are obviously who he examines most closely. I also think he fell in love with Ursula’s character so much that he had to go and write an entirely different book about her. What I found odd was that Tom, Anna, and Ursula are all strikingly similar in their reactions to love and relationships, but their personalities are all completely different. Tom is a fairly even-keel farmer, contented to live on his Marsh. Anna is a strong-willed and sharp-tongued figure who grows to be a lazy housewife with nine children. Ursula is your typical independent and idealistic eldest child who runs off to college and never wants to get married. How would it be possible that those three individuals would approach a relationship the same way? This was weird to me and highly implausible. I get that family members will act similarly in certain situations, but I found myself thinking that I was ready for a new reaction and some different material by the time we had reached Ursula’s generation.
Regarding their reactions, although the Brangwens are supposed to be your everyday upper middleclass family, they are awfully dramatic and inhumanly mercurial. As I said above, I loved how Lawrence touched on the love/hate line, but his main characters spent a little too much time in the hate category. I’ve never met so many fictional characters who despise and fear their loved ones so vehemently. Then, five pages later, they’re desperately in love again and all the birds are out chirping. I get that lovers argue and don’t understand each other, but that seems to be all that is ever going on in Lawrence’s World of Crazy Love. Perhaps this is how it was a hundred years ago in the UK. Yikes.
As a short note, I will however mention that I adored the way that Lawrence examined Christianity in this books. His characters struggle with it immensely, all in unique ways. For example, Anna harps against the church for basically her whole life, while Ursula falls deeply in love with it as a child and then strays from it as she grows. I’ll admit I didn’t examine it as closely as I probably should have, but I liked that Lawrence also left their religious beliefs a little murky. I think this gave it some authenticity.

Best part: Ursula is loosely engaged to be married to Anton Skrebensky. She has a ring, they frequently visit hotels in London together, they say I love you, etc. etc. However, Ursula won’t really admit to herself or to Anton that she never really sees herself getting married. She goes along with it, perhaps because she likes the attention and his company. Either way, she is a saucy minx who ends up completely breaking his heart by running out on him at the last minute, weeks before he is to ship off to India with the British military. By the time Ursula realizes she’s pregnant with Skrebensky’s child and writes him that she does indeed want to get married, he’s been wed to someone else. Way to make decisions, Ursula.

Recommend to: People who appreciate turn-of-the-century British lit and are a little kooky.

Reminded me of: Only due to their treatment of sexual tension and the complex emotions that love evokes, I have to say Gabriel Garcia Marquez, although the two authors are so very different.

How I would murder the main character: Because she cruelly lead Skrebenksy on, I would sever some of Ursula’s main arteries with broken biology lab equipment and then leave her locked in a room with her eight younger siblings.

Sexy parts: Ursula and Skrebensky seem to have a lot of sex in public. Although Lawrence doesn’t come outright and go into detail (for which he would have likely been put to death and not just sued) you can tell that if they’re spending time under a shady tree on the riverbank, something promiscuous is going on. Also, Ursula has a brief lesbian relationship with her school mistress, Winifred. (I realize at this point you may be doubting my claim that I found this book a little boring, but I'm ok with that)

To sum it up: A rollercoaster of sensual and in-depth emotional discovery.

Overall: 7

Marie Antoinette: The Journey - Antonia Fraser

General info: Biography of Marie Antoinette, published in 2001

Storytelling: 9 - Marie Antoinette’s story is a one we all vaguely know already, so I believe Fraser’s challenge here was to build on previous biographies and to imagine the misunderstood young Queen in a fresh new way. This book is largely described as a sympathetic biography, and Fraser focuses on promoting the notion that Antoinette was not the evil villainess that French history would like us to believe, but rather she was a flighty and somewhat naive young archduchess who got thrown into a really crappy situation.
To give some background, Antoinette’s life starts happily (for the most part) as the youngest of eighteen children born to the Holy Roman Emperor, Francis I, and his wife Maria Theresa. Although her domineering family loves her dearly, Antoine (as she was known before her marriage) was viewed from the onset as a mere political pawn to be played by her mother, who was a calculating and shrewd matchmaker. Fraser uses a lot of hilarious dry wit in reference to the bold Maria Theresa, who inserts herself often in matters of state, and is also a raging hypocrite when it comes to marital advice, which is more or less “obey your husband no matter the cost”. Antoine takes little interest in her formal education and busies herself instead with music and theatre, which comes to be an issue when she is eventually married to the Dauphin of France at the age of fourteen.
Here she is rudely separated from her family, who she is likely never to see again, and taken to France. Fraser describes how she struggles to warm up to her new husband and fit in at a foreign court where her language and writing skills are lacking. The Dauphin (the future King Louis XVI) is awkward, unsocial, and has no interest in consummating his marriage. Antoinette disappoints everyone in the early years of marriage, first for being a poor political ally for Austria (throughout her life she doesn’t give a rats ass about politics and is always getting harped on about this) and for not being pregnant. You have to feel for her. Fraser points out Antoinette’s redeeming attributes – such as her generosity, kindness, and grace – often and convincingly. She seems to me to have been a sweet person with a kind heart who was never cut out to be a leader. Her only wish was to be a mother.
Fast-forward a few years and Antoinette, now Queen, starts to warm up to things. She eventually gives France four children, two of whom die at a young age. She devotes her life to her remaining son and daughter, all while France is politically and economically falling to pieces. Since she’s an easy target, everyone wants to blame the foreign Austrian princess, and her reputation is vilified by the masses. Fraser doesn’t glaze over the fact that the court at Versailles was spending money foolishly and far too lavishly. She also effectively argues for the fact that Antoinette may have spent a lot, but it was what was expected of her and of every courtier at the time. She abstained in small ways, but to do so on a larger scale would have caused a ruckus. Antoinette was doomed from the start.
As we all know, the ending is tragic, and Fraser pulls the heart-strings in such a way that I found myself choking up a few times. Nothing goes right for Marie Antoinette as the French Revolution comes to its climax. Versailles and the Tuileries, both residences of the royal family near the end, are attacked, and after a failed attempt at escape, the royal family is thrown into prison. The court votes to have her husband beheaded and shortly thereafter comes to take the children away from their mother. Here Fraser describes the ferocity with which Antoinette defends her son, backing him into a corner and refusing to move even when threatened with death. Eventually they get to him after using a combination of force and threatening to kill her daughter. Shortly thereafter, they also brainwash her impressionable son into testifying at court that he was sexually molested by his mother and aunt. Really, guys?
After a brief and horribly unfair trial, she is also sentenced to death. Fraser describes how every insult is issued to Antoinette during her execution (having her hands tied, how she is paraded through the streets, etc.), unlike the King who was shown some decency. However, Antoinette falls from grace with amazing poise, and to the end she is dignified and composed.
Fraser brings this old historical account to life, and I appreciate the way she weaves the story of Antoinette’s life effectively, even if the amount of detail did get a bit confusing at times. I appreciated the fresh insight, and was impressed with the sheer scope of information Fraser had to sort through. It’s difficult to rank this book based on storytelling, since the material was already there, but Fraser re-imagined it nicely and the pages flew by rapidly.

Writing: 7 – I couldn’t help but imagining Antonia Fraser writing this book in a dark-paneled study in some posh area of London while sipping Earl Grey with her pinkie up. Her writing is 100% snotty intellectual, which I adore, but it is pretty evident she’s a 79-year-old member of the British upper-class. She is a fan of words like “august” (yes, it’s more than just a month) and “heartrending”, which you don’t often hear over here on this side of the pond. I always appreciate writing that challenges me a bit and is completely unlike any author I’ve read before, so I enjoyed this about Fraser’s style.
However, she did tend to get pretty wordy at times, and her syntax would trip me up. I’m not sure if this is because her intellect is light-years ahead of me (maybe…) or because she just really loves long sentences, but it got a bit tiresome at times. She would often fill in the blanks with her own historical speculation. For example, there is no proof that Antoinette ever had an affair with the dashing Swedish Count Fersen, but Fraser approaches their relationship as if it’s a certainty. I’m on the fence about this decision; it’s a bold move on Fraser’s part, but it’s also a little arrogant assuming you can fill in historical blanks without verifiable evidence. Perhaps this is a biographer's right, but I'll stay undecided for now.

Characters: 5 - Holy hell. There were far too many to keep track of. I understand that Fraser was dealing with roughly a million people who were involved in the French and Austrian courts at the end of the 18th century, but she further confuses the reader by using their first names, last names, and their titles, interchangeably! She smartly places a map and a family tree at the start of the book, but a glossary of characters would have helped as well. I was constantly wrinkling my brow trying to remember who so-and-so was, considering they were most likely introduced 30 pages earlier and Fraser (again with the light-speed intellect) seems to assume we can all keep up. Although I enjoy when authors don’t treat me like a bonehead, this was too much. Points docked for carelessness or intellectual malevolence, whichever it is.
However, individual character construction of key players was great. I loved her development of Marie Antoinette, Marie Theresa, Louis XV and XVI, the children, Antoinette’s closest friends, etc. She gives important figures due diligence and expounds on tiny gems of detail that I’m assuming she uncovered in her research. I felt like I could really grow to know these people, and it was fascinating to me that they were actually real figures in history.

Best part: (This answer will unveil me to be a totally macabre weirdo, but whatever. Do not read if you’re squeamish.) For whatever reason, the French targeted Marie Antoinette’s dear friend, the Princess de Lamballe. At court she refused to testify against the monarchy, so they jumped her outside of the courthouse, clubbed her to death with a hammer, and probably sexually assaulted her. (Fraser points out that she was thankfully already dead if they commenced with the latter. Lovely.)
From here, they cut off her head and disemboweled her, putting the two pieces onto two spikes. Then they took the head on the spike to a hairdresser (I kid you not) where they had her hair redone. THEN the mob marched to the Tuileries so they could bounce the head up and down near Marie Antoinette’s bedroom window, all the while screaming for her to give it a kiss. (It was rumored that Antoinette and de Lamballe had been lovers.) Thankfully the guards were able to close the shutters before Antoinette could see any of this.
All I’ll say about this is that I can only see the French being capable of this nonsense, particularly the hairdresser portion.

Recommend to: Fans of dense prose who perhaps want to start reading biographies and like girly but grisly princess stories.

Reminded me of: Salman Rushdie, if he were to start writing historical non-fiction.

How I would murder the main character: hahahaha

Sexy parts: Considering royal sex was seen as a political act, and she was derided for not having enough of it as a teenager, it’s speculated that Marie Antoinette spent most of her life thinking of all sex negatively. However, the fact that most of France thought she was a raging lesbian was kind of interesting. I still don’t believe they came up with that out of the blue just because she had close female relationships. I also appreciated the intrigue associated with her purported affair with the handsome Count Fersen. Did they or didn’t they? The world will never know…

To sum it up: Ideal for a seasoned reader, but don’t lose your head due to information overload.

Overall: 7

St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised By Wolves - Karen Russell

General info: Collection of short stories, published in 2008

Storytelling: 10 - Admittedly, I bought this book at Urban Outfitters because it was $5, it sounded mildly interesting, and I had nothing with me to read (I tell you, my reading addiction is an illness). I finished it in three days because I just couldn’t put it down. Russell is immensely talented, and this is the most creative and unique collection I’ve read in a long time. Each of her stories (most of them narrated by pre-teen children living in the Florida everglades) have a fantastic or supernatural element that makes them quirky and slightly uncomfortable, but just enough so that the reader is left wanting more. It’s obvious from her stories that Russell is one of those individuals who exists on another plane of imaginative thought.
This book features ten stories and to give you a snapshot, it starts with the story of a 12-year-old girl abandoned by her father at a Florida gator wrestling complex and left to deal with her older, obese sister who is mentally ill and sleeping with an incubus. There is a story about a boy away at a summer camp reserved for kids with sleeping disorders, all separated into different cabins based on their ailments (narcoleptics, somnambulists, head thrashers, incontinents, etc.). There’s a story about a theme park of sorts, featuring small-house-sized giant conch shells that make eerie noises in the wind. One main character has a minotaur for a father. In another tale, a set of brothers are searching for their dead sister with a pair of goggles that allow them to see underwater ghosts. Russell’s creations are absolutely wild, and I enjoyed diving into her expansive imagination with a childlike glee. She crafts each of her tales to be almost believable, and I had a few foolish moments thinking “Wait…could that really be the case? Conch shells that large?”. I have always had a soft spot for magical realism, but I believe Russell pushes the envelope here in a macabre and satisfying way.

Writing: 7 – I obviously enjoyed this book since I sped through it. I wouldn’t be able to have done that if the writing weren’t pretty grand. (Life is too short for mediocre writing, unless the storytelling is off the charts) Russell’s MFA from Columbia is apparent and she pulled out a few vocab words that I had completely forgotten, or never known (ululate is a new favorite). However, she’s got to work on her voice, which I imagine will come with her maturation as a writer. Each of her protagonists were precocious, insightful children, aged 10-12, but they all sounded awfully adult-like. I appreciated the concept and was at first looking forward to a childlike perspective, but by the third or fourth story, I realized it was never going to come. Russell is very good, but this approach almost seems like she is trying too hard, which I guess is to be expected from a young author fresh from Columbia, attempting to prove her chops.
Additionally, I can’t decide if I loved or hated the abrupt endings she springs on the reader. Each of her stories seemed to end harshly and almost randomly, leaving a slightly unsatisfied reader to shrug, say “Well, I guess that’s that…” and charge forth to the next tale. Endings to me are more important than beginnings; that is the taste you are left with as you leave the book. However, there is a part of me that appreciates Russell’s change of pace, and it almost highlights the ethereal quality of the book. You’re meant to come up with an ending on your own; it challenges your imagination. I give credit to any author who doesn’t assume her audience is filled with nitwits and calls on them to participate, but I understand that this harsh approach is not for most and can leave many unsettled.

Characters: 7 – I suppose this ties closely in with Writing, considering a lot of my lamenting about voice had to do with the one child character Russell seemed to adopt throughout her tales. In a lot of ways I had a lot of connection with Russell’s children, since they all seemed to be misunderstood and intelligent little creatures living half in our world and half in another, and I’d like to think I was this way at 10-year-old. They were all observant and interesting, a little terrified of everything, and the type of kid that you wouldn’t mind having an adult conversation with. Again, this is probably because they were all basically written as adults. The way they interacted with the other secondary characters was fine. I wasn’t particularly blown away with Russell’s construction of other figures and her attempts to express unrequited teenage love kind of fell flat in many ways.

Best part: Russell’s final story, and the name of the book, which speaks of a Catholic private school for were-girls who are separated from their wolf families and taught to behave like humans. This story is hilarious and enormously unsettling as you hear about small girls learning to speak English (instead of growling), walk on two-legs, not urinate all over their bedrooms, and rid themselves of the craving for raw meat. This conversion is painful and confusing for this girls, and you feel for them as they are struggling to learn humanness. This story made me wonder if Russell was alluding to anything happening in our world today that we might not be approaching with the proper perspective, but maybe I’m taking it too far.

Recommend to: Fans of magical realism and anyone who feels that their imagination needs some food for thought.

Reminded me of: A grown-up, more disturbing Roald Dahl

How I would murder the main character: This is an easy one. I’d leave each of Russell’s leading children alone in the Everglades, miles from humanity and without any provisions, in the hopes that they would be eaten by an alligator.

Sexy parts: Osceola, Ava’s older teenage sister in the first story, is overcome sexually at night by her mysterious “boyfriend”. One can only assume she’s being visited by an incubus or is leading her naïve sister astray. Russell never gives you any satisfying answers. Ava believes her sister is overcome by a nocturnal spell and that she is leaving in the middle of the night to go roll in the swamp with her magical lover. Ew.

To sum it up: A dreamlike and chilling look into a not-so-childlike other world.

Overall: 8

American Wife - Curtis Sittenfeld

General info: Novel, published in 2008

Storytelling: 4 – Ok, Sittenfeld. You’ve really disappointed me with this one. You are infinitely too creative of a writer to have to rip-off the life of Laura Bush, which you do here to an alarming degree. Prep was masterfully created and entirely fictional. This drivel is about 15% fiction, and the other 85% inappropriately rips off the history of our former First Lady. Although minor things have been changed (Alice grows up in Wisconsin, not Texas. Her father-in-law is merely Governor and not President), the majority of this “tale” is based on a life that has actually been lived. How the hell does Laura Bush feel about this?
Sittenfeld was obviously making an absurd political statement through her pathetically conflicted main character, Alice Blackwell, who remains a Democrat throughout the novel even though her blundering and self-absorbed husband, Charlie, climbs to the presidency as a staunch Republican. She goes on and on about how left-leaning she is and how awful it is keeping her secret from Charlie’s much more powerful and money-rich family. She secretly donates to organizations her husband might not approve of. She tolerates his alcoholism until completely out of the blue she grows a backbone and leaves him for a bit. (Is it wrong I sided with the confused and bewildered Charlie during that bit?) The novel completely loses ground during the last section, while she is an impatient and ungrateful First Lady. She’s so tortured and conflicted about her husband’s War on Terror, which he decided to enter in to after a terrorist attack in 2001. (Oy! Another coincidence!) She mentions how ill-equipped he is to be in politics. She secretly votes for his opponent. I understand if you feel strongly about something political, but is the best choice really to craft some half-assed novel based on some woman’s real-life role as a First Lady, just to espouse your beliefs? C’mon Sittenfeld. I’m pretty darn liberal, but I would never stoop this low.
What really irked me was that the only real emotion driving this mess was guilt. This is the most guilt-soaked book you’ll ever pick up. As a teenager, Alice accidentally kills a classmate/potential boyfriend in a horrific car wreck (same as Laura Bush). Don’t get me wrong, this whole scenario is horrific and incredibly sad, but she harps on her guilt for the next 300 pages. Then, she feels guilty for dating and marrying Charlie even though her friend Dena liked him (Really? Are you 13?) Then she feels guilty about their life of privilege…about living in a nice house…about Charlie’s trust fund…about being the First Lady….blah blah blah. What a mouse! Stop complaining and make something of your life!
The only redeeming moments here come from Sittenfeld’s ability to shine bits of real-life light through her story. She has such a firm grasp of reality, and she is a master at proffering witty bits of surprising insight. She makes me laugh at times with her frank honesty, and throughout this book I especially loved her remarks on the nature of being a reader. Alice is a book-lover and an elementary school librarian when she meets Charlie. I’ll give you one guess as to who else was a librarian when she met George Bush…

Writing: 8 – Here is where Sittenfeld redeems herself. She is obviously talented, and her delivery is concise and spot-on. I’ve never been married, but after reading this, I feel like I understand it a little bit more. I credit this to Sittenfeld’s superb diction which paints a picture of an experience so well, I could feel myself stepping into Alice’s head each time I opened this book. For the most part, I found this interesting, but at times it did get difficult to suffer through the long passages of monologue. Alice is very much a character who lives in her own head, and she comments often on the fact that she is grateful for people who talk more than she does. Now, I’m willing to cut Sittenfeld a little bit of slack considering I am the polar opposite personality type, and I was still able to sort of relate to Alice, but this got wearing. Were it not for Sittenfeld’s wit, clever insight, and apparent ability to pluck perfect words out of thin air (I would often reread passages a few times, silently saluting her for her brilliant construction), I would probably not have made it through this book.

Characters: 7 – Firstly, I did not really like any of the characters in this book, aside from Alice’s spunky and fun-loving sister-in-law, Jadey. They were all either boring or offensive, and I doubt I’d be friends with a single one (save for Jadey…and maybe Miss Ruby). However, my own preferences should factor in negligibly here, and I need to rate these characters instead on their construction. What Sittenfeld does well here is she includes a lot of characters who are just unique and flawed enough to be compelling. She introduces a large cast, and I am able to keep track of them mentally through 500+ pages. I give her credit for this. Her characters are also easily identified, which is a challenging task, but one that is made a bit easier through the eyes of one individual. In a quirky, slightly confusing way, they all seem to complement each other well, and I am thankful for the way their personalities weave together.
However, Sittenfeld gets points taken off for the super blunt way she contrasts Alice and Charlie. I understand that opposites attract, but these two have nothing in common and their love never really makes sense. When Alice separates from Charlie for a short bit, her immediate family and friends aren’t surprised because he’s such a louse. Well…duh. Sittenfeld tries her hardest to convey how much Alice loves Charlie despite his flaws, but it comes off as superficial and forced. After the 9th “why I love Charlie even though he sucks” passage, you start to roll your eyes.

Best part: Shortly after they are engaged, Alice goes to meet Charlie’s extended family at their “rustic” compound on Lake Michigan, where they vacation for 2-3 months every summer (like the Bush family does in Maine). Charlie’s family is loud and boisterous, proud of their ability to rough it with many people sharing one bathroom. They all eat huge meals together, swim in the lake all day, enjoy their mis-matched furniture, and mingle with the families in the nearby compounds. Because she is completely lame and hates fun, Alice wants to leave immediately and is scared by everyone. I, however, adored this part because my extended family does something similar, albeit it’s the middle-class version (less booze, more tents). Sittenfeld evokes the feeling well, and it made me yearn for summertime.

Recommend to: not Laura Bush

Reminded me of: Jennifer Weiner, who I can sometimes tolerate.

How I would murder the main character: Oh boy. What a decision. I’d probably get her drunk on whiskey and then stone her to death with copies of The Giving Tree.

Sexy parts: Alice and Charlie have a lot of sex, and Sittenfeld describes it in detail. These parts are what endear me to Charlie the most, because he is affectionate and generous. There’s also a scene where a socially inept 9-year-old girl goes pilfering through the bedrooms and finds Charlie’s stash of Penthouse magazines. (Cue Alice’s long rambling monologue about objectifying women).

To sum it up: A good read, but political discussions are best left to the media.

Overall: 6

The Fountainhead - Ayn Rand

General info: Novel, published in 1943

Storytelling: 10 – I have been touting this book as one of my favorites for years, having first read it as a radical and anti-authoritarian 17-year-old. After re-reading as a more moderate 25-year-old, I must say it still is one of the best. Rand is incredibly unpredictable, and even though I have read this before, I still felt my mind jolting every time she throws you a curveball. It’s like watching a really great scary movie over and over; you know he’s going to go after her with the meat cleaver, but you still cringe. The story weaves through the years effectively and moves quickly without losing relevant detail. It’s also a particularly dazzling tale, including millionaire tycoons, explosions, a lot of jewelry, and naked statues. Any story that is an 8 or above in my book leaves me feel saddened at the end because it’s over, and this one did exactly that. And hey, I learned a bit about architecture too.

Writing: 10 – First, I want to preface this by assuring you all that I think Objectivism is a load of nonsense. But if more people wrote like Ayn Rand, I’d assuredly just lay in bed all day glued to their books, unable to leave and probably remaining perpetually un-showered. Her vocabulary is off the charts, her syntax gives me goose-bumps, and her attention to detail makes me cry. I love that you can sense how deliberately and carefully she selects each of her words. You can tell Ayn Rand respects words immensely and chooses them with the utmost care – similar to her heroes and heroines. She is hard-hitting, eloquent and captivating. I have a crush on Ayn Rand’s writing, even though I also think she was completely insane.

Characters: 7.5 – I love and breathe for Ayn Rand’s characters. They are passionate, well-crafted pieces of art, each and every one, but I’m going to mark her down here for the fact that most of them aren’t really human. You can’t really feel yourself identifying with any of them, and even though I would perhaps give a limb to identify with Dominique Francon, I really can’t at all. Rand’s characters are all either starkly Type 1 (Howard Roark) or Type 2 (Ellsworth Toohey) with no variance in between. I love the scope of her characterization and the depths of their conviction (or lack thereof), but what place would they really have in the real world? I think this is Rand’s point, that we are missing this essential piece of society, or that men and women who would normally be willing to speak out for justice get smothered by the ignorant masses. Her point is made with the subtleness of a sledgehammer, and I sometimes get a little aggravated, wondering if perhaps she went too far. Wouldn’t she have been more effective if she toned it down a little bit?
However, I am entertained and grabbed nonetheless. Following these characters is like watching a superhero movie. No, that couldn’t really happen, but you find yourself gripping the edge of your seat in heated anticipation, loving the ride.

Best part: Howard Roark and Dominique Francon meet again in the city at a black-tie party, post-rape, and pretend not to know each other. I love imagining their eyes meeting once again, and Dominique finally associating Roark’s name and genius with the face of an anonymous quarry worker. Also Roark blowing up the Cortlandt building makes for some good fiction.

Recommend to: Anyone with a brain and who can read a book skeptically but with appreciation.

Reminded me of: I’m not even going to attempt to think of anyone who could rival Ayn Rand.

How I would murder the main character: I would chain Howard Roark to the Parthenon until he starves.

Sexy parts: Dominique Francon sure is sexy, but her love life is a hot mess. She loses her virginity to Howard Roark in what Rand refers to as “rape by engraved invitation”. Then she marries Peter Keating, only to later sleep with Gail Wynand to secure Keating a commission, even though she still loves Roark. Then she marries Wynand, makes her affair with Roark public, and then marries Roark. Although sexy, I do not envy Dominique and her backwards route to romance.

To sum it up: An epically passionate and mind-blowing tome that must be taken with a grain of political salt.

Overall: 9

Journey to the Center of the Earth - Jules Verne

General info: Classic science-fiction novel, published in 1864

Storytelling: 5 – Although it’s obvious Verne wanted to educate his readers about different time periods and layers of the earth, he got way too scientific for my liking. It also didn't help that his science is horribly outdated, but I can't fault him for this, being a 21st century reader. The plot lagged at times and lapsed into a lot of preamble associated with the surroundings. I’d find myself reading certain passages over and over, not retaining anything and wondering why the barometer and compass readings were so damn important. Now I am a huge fan of flowery, descriptive prose, but this was just too dense and numerical for my liking. Jules Verne was undoubtedly that kid who asked for the child's science kit for Christmas and then exploded green goop all over the living room. (Do they have living rooms in France?)
However, the occasional sprinkling of action scene was to my liking. Fights between prehistoric water beasts, gigantic men, epic electrical storms while “out to sea”, etc. were all very nice. Although I often found myself drifting off, Verne always reeled me in again.
The story was also funny in a quirky, subtle way. For example, I appreciated Verne’s description of “hunting” eiderdown ducks (I wonder if this really happens), his occasional sarcastic references to the nature of Germans, and Axel’s overly-dramatic and frequent references to how they are all surely going to die in miserable ways. These tidbits popped up out of nowhere on occasion and improved the reading considerably.

Writing: 7 – There’s something very specific about the way Verne writes, and in some odd way, it appeals to me. I’d consider it true science fiction, heavy on the science. It’s not for your everyday reader but it is short and fairly easy to digest, once you get past certain passages. I typically pride myself on having a fairly vast vocabulary, but Verne challenged me with words that led me to dictionary.com, such as savant, polyglot, and anathematize. (Say that last one out loud)
I also was a bit bewildered by a sudden change of tense associated with the big electrical storm. Axel goes from past tense into present rather abruptly. I realize this is a very distressing time for our fearful main character, but I wasn’t quite sure why that moment was the time that Verne decided to throw me for a loop. To what end? It felt a little disjointed, and the use isn’t really obvious to me. Maybe I’m missing something…

Characters: 8 – For a short novel centered around three oddball characters, I think Verne did a fine job. Axel is pitiful and a real downer most of the time, but there is something earnest and honest about him, and he’s especially amusing as a foil against his wacky uncle, Lidenbrock. Hans, their silent and capable Icelandic guide, was my favorite. There’s just something about the strong, silent type that appeals to a girl, and I’ve always loved Scandinavians.
Interestingly, I struggle to identify the antagonist in this story. In many ways, it’s Axel himself, always trying to dissuade his uncle from continuing on. Or perhaps the real bad guy is Saknussemm, teasing them with bits and pieces of his trail. With a name like that, he must have been a jerk.

Best part: So as not to be too predictable, I liked when the travelers stayed overnight with the generous Icelandic family. Verne’s description of the large gaggle of poor children piled on top of each other to make space at the dinner table made me giggle. Otherwise, were I to be predictable, I’d say the fight between the plesiosaur and the ichthyosaur and how Axel at first mistakes them for four different creatures. Oh Axel…

Recommend to: My nerd friends who have a love for science fiction but also have a brain that’s geared more toward math/science. Or anyone who appreciates seeing the word Snæfellsjökull in print.

Reminded me of: Don’t ask me to justify this, considering I’ve only read like 50 pages of him, but Herman Melville. They seem to both be fans of lengthy descriptions with occasional bursts of excitement.(Note: after finishing Moby Dick, I realized that I was way off with this guess)

How I would murder the main character: I would buy the largest manometer on the market and clobber Axel over the head with it. Or I’d feed him to the ichthyosaur.

Sexy parts: Axel’s slightly scandalous mad love for Gräuben, Professor Lidenbrock’s ward. I sure hope after Axel returned alive and they got married that she worked on him not being such a weenie. And I hope she changed her name.

To sum it up: A fun story that is drily imaginative and best taken in small doses.

Overall: 6.5