Albert
The title essay is brilliant and hilarious. I have tried to read Wallace's fiction before and always found it a bit depressing. I think his nonfiction is more grounded in reality and there doesn't go to the same dark places that his fiction does. I got to appreciate his style more, and I think this will encourage me to revisit his other books.
I admire the writing. It's filled with both beautiful and horrific images, sometimes stacked together. (E.g., description of grandmother in beautiful dress, at peaceful Buddhist altar; then, the suggestion that the incense blunts the pain that she feels about her departed son.)
On the other hand, I think the lack of structure put me off. I didn't feel attached to any characters because they come and go so quickly that they leave only impressions.
More scientific than I expected, as it explains the spread of information and misinformation through precise models. Learned a lot. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like there's any way out of the situation unless systems (even the very idea of democracy) fundamentally change. I'm not very hopeful about this; people won't change for the sake of it, unless there are incentives to do so.
The linguistic theory stuff in City of Glass reminded me of [b: Snow Crash 40651883 Snow Crash Neal Stephenson https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1530057753l/40651883.SX50.jpg 493634], which is always a good thing. Ghosts was a bit weaker, and felt like a variation of the same themes. But The Locked Room brought it around for me again, by bringing the more abstract ideas of the others into a more personal story.We become our obsessions, and if our obsession is another person, we risk losing our identity.
The best parts for me were those that explored the way that people (families, couples) perform happiness or unity for the sake of others. And then those other people respond with envy, until it breaks down, either because the happiness dissolves for real, or because the envious person realizes that it's only an image.
I didn't like it as much when it dove too deeply into what I would call “writer stuff” - philosophical discussions about the value of literature and writing. It's too self-referential for me.
I liked it less and less as it went on. The first book, I was in, because it focused on one character's quest, and had a sense of discovery as Lyra learned about the rules of the world. There are many strange mysteries, and they all tie into her quest.
By the third book, the world-building and multiple plotlines have gotten so complex that it feels like the characters need to explain what's going on to each other in every other chapter. Lyra spends a third of it asleep, and she's the only character I ever really cared about. (Will is okay, but too brooding.) I found myself rushing through whole sequences, just to get back to her story.
Some subplots I found unsatisfying:
- The war against the Authority doesn't amount to much. We simply haven't seen the Authority do anything to make us want him to lose.
- The assassin sent to kill Mary because she was going to tempt Lyra... he gets killed without the confrontation ever happening.
I read this while going through a bit of a mid-life crisis. Basically, coming to the realization that it's impossible to have it all. Trying to fit everything into this life only leads to anxiety.
In this book, one character after another pours their heart out to the narrator. They reflect upon their lives, often filled with regret. On the surface, it seems like they regret their failure to attain everything they wanted. But in my state of mind, I interpreted it as regret that they failed to recognize the impossibility of attaining everything they wanted. Or, they failed to recognize that they were being told to want the wrong things.
This book is filled with passages that describe parts of my life perfectly. One of the most emotionally satisfying reads I've had in a while.
The biggest wow moment for me was seeing the Righteous and Harmonious Fists in battle from Vibiana's perspective. They appear as men, and not as gods. It creates the sense that the Fist members are driven by faith in their cause (which I never totally agreed with while reading Boxers).
I was not a fan of the epilogue here... I didn't think that Bao deserved to survive, and especially not due to the prayer that he learned from the girl that he murdered. I didn't feel it was just; Bao was the instigator of violence, and he ends up being victorious, in a way.
I thought the ending was a bit rushed. There's a lot of moral ambiguity here, and I have to say I found it tough to get into because I never really wanted Bao to succeed. His rebellion is based on nationalism and exclusionary thinking, and I couldn't get behind it, even though on a personal level, I respect that he was trying to protect his way of life.
The artwork is great, and I enjoyed the designs of the gods that the fighters become.
The setup and premise are interesting. At first, I got a World War Z vibe because of the “on the ground, as it happened” style. Unfortunately, where World War Z branched out into many different sources and perspectives, here, it's limited to the journal of one person. Because of this, the characters in John's life become vehicles to express how the postmortal cure would affect different slices of society.
E.g.
The father: an older person.
The sister: a married person with kids.
The mother of John's child: a person making the decision to have kids.
The new girlfriend: a person making the decision to get married.
Nobody feels real, and their conversations often sound like philosophical debates.
The story feels very disorienting, because it jumps between realities, and it's a new world that you have to get used to every time. This is intentional, of course, and effective. However, I felt the need to have some constant to hold onto, and didn't get it. The only relationship that exists throughout the story is between George and Haber. I would have liked to see some sort of evolution in this relationship, like a power struggle that goes back and forth. Instead, I felt that it was quite static: Haber always has the upper hand, and there's not much George can do about it.
The biggest strength of this novel is the combination of a coming-of-age story with a subtle magical world. The way that magic works, by indirect manipulation of reality, so that a spell seems to reach back in time to set up a chain of events that lead to the desired result, is fascinating. It also plays well with Mori's teenage insecurity; when she makes friends, she doesn't believe that she earned it. Even though she's a clear, natural fit in her book club, she chalks it up to a spell she cast, and agonizes over the “ethics” of her actions.
The best parts of the book are the passages that connect the writer's life with the killer's. Taken alone, the two stories are interesting, but it's her finding meaning in the parallels between them that is truly compelling.
On a stylistic note, I wasn't a fan of everything in present tense. For a narrative that jumps around in time so much, it's hard to grasp a frame of reference if everything feels like it's happening all at once. I understand that the effect could be intentional, but it jarred me every time she used the will future tense, e.g. “five years from now, I will do so-and-so.” But it's obviously all in the past.
The best parts of the book are the passages that connect the writer's life with the killer's. Taken alone, the two stories are interesting, but it's her finding meaning in the parallels between them that is truly compelling.
On a stylistic note, I wasn't a fan of everything in present tense. For a narrative that jumps around in time so much, it's hard to grasp a frame of reference if everything feels like it's happening all at once. I understand that the effect could be intentional, but it jarred me every time she used the will future tense, e.g. “five years from now, I will do so-and-so.” But it's obviously all in the past.
I got the edition that has the “Mistakes We Knew We Made” appendix attached. I skipped it. I had had enough.
It worked for me for the first couple of chapters. The graphic descriptions of the mother's illness (“podules”, “green fluids”) were an effective, visceral way of gaining sympathy. The sympathy lasts after the parents are gone, when Dave and Toph are living in California. He says “we are owed” and I can give him that, even if I don't believe it. They suffered a tragedy, sure, but they're not the only ones to ever have parents die. The hubris is endearing until the sympathy wears off... by the time we get to Dave's work at the magazine and the extended “interview” with MTV, the overconfident tone became obnoxious to me.
I'm not even mentioning the extended meta-commentary in the acknowledgements at the beginning. Not a good start for me... I was like, really? You're explaining your themes before the book starts?
Enjoyed the writing style all around.
Will focus on my favourite story of the bunch, “Dogs In Clothes.” The main character reminds me of people I know, egocentric people who like to think of themselves as cultured, and are sensitive to any doubts cast on their sincerity. Yet, the character is not necessarily unlikable. You feel that she is just doing what is expected of her.
The love triangle kept me engaged, even though Sid was being blindly and irrationally jealous most of the time. There are a couple of beautiful passages about what it's like to make music, and what talent and genius mean. Mostly, though, I never quite settled into the prose style: a bit repetitive at times, and forced my head voice into a mental blackface that I wasn't comfortable with.