Eduardo Santiago

Good material, even great material at times, but hard to follow. I think Klein tried to pack in too much: evolutionary psychology, behavioral economics, game theory, neuroscience, even Open Source. All of them are subjects I’m reasonably well read in, but even so I found it rough going. Which really bums me out because I did learn a few good things: research I was unfamiliar with, and new questions to ponder.

I completely agree with his conclusion: the only way humanity will survive is by learning to cooperate on a global scale. The trick, of course, is how. What I found most interesting is Klein’s treatment of punishment as an altruistic behavior: cooperation cannot survive in a society where trust and institutions are undermined. What if we could identify the people causing this harm? What if they were made to pay for their actions? This question may change my future voting strategy.

Not sure I can recommend this, or to whom. For most people, my go-to recommendation on these topics is Hrdy’s [Mothers and Others](https://hardcover.app/books/mothers-and-others): fascinating, and beautifully written. Fukuyama’s [book:Trust|57980] is still my second choice, although I fear it has not aged well.

Second reading (audiobook this time). This one just doesn't do it for me, and I can't understand why. It feels heavyhanded.

Easily as good as the first. Oh, how I needed this right now! This is the kind of book that reminds me there is hope for the world.

It felt like a sketchbook. Watercolor and fine pencil, each two-to-three-page chapter a mix of wispy impressions and sharp focus. Stories and characters radiating around 1970s Vietnam, interlacing together like raindrop ripples in a pond; I hesitate to use weave or tapestry because the overall work is too ethereal, it adds up to form a big picture but one that can only be viewed from up close or far away. There is no middle viewpoint.

Thúy's language (in Fischman's translation, at least) is lean. She conveys much emotion and imagery in few words. Much of it is painful, of course, but there's a lot of resilience and love too. Although this is a short book pagewise, it is worth reading leisurely.

I can’t quite decide if it’s cheesy or exquisite. I laughed hard and often, wept quietly for a moment, read ravenously, and yelled in frustration at the narrator. (One of those did not happen. But I came close.) So I’ll go with exquisite.

The first third is by far the best: fast-paced, great buildup of tension, and gobsmacking descriptions of the orchestration that goes into producing a live weekend comedy show, the process and teamwork. Reading about professionals working smoothly together, ... it just thrills me in a way that I suppose only a nerd could understand. Beautiful writing, snappy dialog, realistic personal dynamics.

Second part was less perfect. It got a little tedious, but I understand why it was necessary buildup for the

Third part, which kind of derailed the book into pure-fantasy territory, but somehow I found myself swept away and not giving a fuck? I’m not normally like that, I swear, but Sittenfeld just hits all my buttons. I let myself enjoy it and am still basking a little in afterglow.

The entire book centers around attractive, smart, witty, talented, kind people—and full focus is given to all of those words. Including people, each one imperfect (some more neurotic than others, but that too is realistic). Each of those attributes is important. Focus also bounces effectively among different interpersonal relationships; Sittenfeld has a genius for seeing and describing personalities. There’s flirting, mindreading, second-guessing, awkwardness, insecurity, tentativeness, emotional complexity. As a card-carrying member of Overthinkers Anonymous, I was in heaven. There’s even a page or two on attachment theory, which I only reached after finishing my last book, the one I (re)read because it seemed like attachment theory was everywhere around me. Another sign from the gods, obviously.

A little too pat. A little too crisp. A little too perfect. And I don’t care; I loved it.

2nd reading, Jan 2024. Sometimes I just need to hear her voice; much like with Terry Pratchett.

2nd reading, Jan 2024. Sometimes I just need to hear her voice; much like with Terry Pratchett.

I can’t quite decide if it’s cheesy or exquisite. I laughed hard and often, wept quietly for a moment, read ravenously, and yelled in frustration at the narrator. (One of those did not happen. But I came close.) So I’ll go with exquisite.

The first third is by far the best: fast-paced, great buildup of tension, and gobsmacking descriptions of the orchestration that goes into producing a live weekend comedy show, the process and teamwork. Reading about professionals working smoothly together, ... it just thrills me in a way that I suppose only a nerd could understand. Beautiful writing, snappy dialog, realistic personal dynamics.

Second part was less perfect. It got a little tedious, but I understand why it was necessary buildup for the

Third part, which kind of derailed the book into pure-fantasy territory, but somehow I found myself swept away and not giving a fuck? I’m not normally like that, I swear, but Sittenfeld just hits all my buttons. I let myself enjoy it and am still basking a little in afterglow.

The entire book centers around attractive, smart, witty, talented, kind people—and full focus is given to all of those words. Including people, each one imperfect (some more neurotic than others, but that too is realistic). Each of those attributes is important. Focus also bounces effectively among different interpersonal relationships; Sittenfeld has a genius for seeing and describing personalities. There’s flirting, mindreading, second-guessing, awkwardness, insecurity, tentativeness, emotional complexity. As a card-carrying member of Overthinkers Anonymous, I was in heaven. There’s even a page or two on attachment theory, which I only reached after finishing my last book, the one I (re)read because it seemed like attachment theory was everywhere around me. Another sign from the gods, obviously.

A little too pat. A little too crisp. A little too perfect. And I don’t care; I loved it.

UPDATE, December 2023: reread because there’s an Attachment zeitgeist in the air; it has repeatedly come up in the past three weeks, in unrelated contexts, with friends from separate circles. This was by far the best book I’ve read on attachment, and damn, it still is. In the two years since I first read it I’ve practiced many of its recommendations (and, of course, neglected others). I’ve come to accept that much of my life is not fixable, but also that this is okay, that I still have the ability to become a better person regardless. Fern works from the premise that our primary relationship is with our Self. It’s not that everything else follows from that, just that our self-attachment is one crucial part of the system. This is a book for anyone who interacts with other humans in any degree. I realize the title will scare off some people, and that’s a shame.

Much has changed in the understanding of attachment since I first read Siegel many years ago; much has also changed in the acceptance and understanding of ethical nonmonogamy in the last few decades. This book starts off strong by assuming an informed reader, giving brief background while focusing more on new perspectives. It remains strong all the way through, offering respectful and insightful takes on presence, communication, relationship safety – what we all work on every day – and providing useful ideas on ways to look at challenges. Well-written, engaging, and mature.Four stars, adding a half because of the final section on secure attachment with Self, and rounding up to five because so much of it hit home so aptly. Much of this is material I know; but like all such, I just need to be reminded sometimes, or to see things a different way. And the clincher: I finished the book, and am writing this, one day after performing my every-year-or-two psychedelic tune-up, this time a solo ritual in the mountains with the intention (chosen months before even starting this book) of exploring my self-love. The final sections, which I read today, are giving me tools to work with.Like many of us, I am a work in progress; it has taken me a lifetime to learn to love better, and I expect it will take the rest of my lifetime to continue learning and improving. Much like planting the proverbial tree, the best time for me to have had this book was thirty years ago, but the second best time is right now.

Reviews suggested this was sweet. It was. But also lifeless and contrived. The characters go through their motions as the story requires, responding to stimuli, but I never got a sense of why or of who they are. Jane consistently addresses them by role — “the wife,” “the brother,” “the stepchild” — so this distancing is intentional, but why? She writes like she wants us to care for the characters, and she even interjects occasional PSAs on the preciousness of life and relationships, but it’s all Tell, no Show.

Kudos for originality and pacing: some fun creative ideas, with nicely done foreshadowing and reveals. Way too many loose ends and side plots that went nowhere, but hey, first work. Give her time.

Skip it. Blasphemy, I know, but consider: Equal Rites and Mort, Sir Terry’s first decent books, are 1987 and 1988 respectively. The dreadful Color of Magic is 1983. These stories, with one exception, are 1970-1975! Publishing them is like grabbing Picasso’s third-grade sketches off his parents’ fridge. Sure, there are tiny recognizable glimmers of what is to come, but they’re stepping stones. None of this is actually good nor worth reading.

Absurd. The opening scene is shockingly violent; then, as the novel progresses, Adjei-Brenyah periodically introduces further cruelties, tortures, and humiliations. Actions that no human would ever inflict on any sentient creature, let alone a fellow human.(*)

(*) That is not actually true.

This. Was. Painful. I almost DNFed on page six; a trusted friend encouraged me to continue, and I thank her. Shock value notwithstanding, this is a work of compassion and love, as will come as no surprise if you’ve read Friday Black. Adjei-Brenyah has a disturbing gift not just for depicting unimaginable horrors but also the chilling social acceptance of such, and by so doing he highlights the horrors that we today treat as commonplace.

A mixed bag. Some of the stories were meh, but the good ones were very, very good. Great writing, beautiful twists, powerful and memorable dilemmas.

Horror stories often involve supernatural elements. I tend to find those silly, and prefer the ones exploring plain old human nature. This collection includes both kinds of stories, and to my surprise, of the ones I loved, there was a tie (four-four) between supernatural and non.