johnny dangerously.

I want to say first that I didn't hate this novel– it isn't bad, it's just not for me. I think if I hadn't read Hendrix's other works before this one, I'd have either liked it better, or never finished it. I do think that this is a very ambitious novel, possibly the most ambitious I've seen Hendrix try yet. I just don't think it lands, but I also think that's just because of my personal taste.For me, a novel lives and dies on its pacing, and this is the worst paced Hendrix novel I've read (and I've read all of his fiction except [b:Horrorstör 13129925 Horrorstör Grady Hendrix https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1414314217l/13129925.SX50.jpg 18306052] and [b:The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires 44074800 The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires Grady Hendrix https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1584222716l/44074800.SY75.jpg 68534292]). I think the unevenness of the pacing really undercuts the themes Hendrix is trying to work with. I find those themes very admirable and interesting! I think they're also very ambitious for an author like Hendrix.Hendrix has his predilections– he is clearly interested in writing about southern women, specifically white women, specifically ‘normal' women. By ‘normal' I mean women with no supernatural powers or ridiculous skills (except being a bassist, one time), but also he wants them to have an extremely realistic psychology. They don't know they're in a horror novel, and they react accordingly– frequently these girls are selfish, self-defeating and cowardly. Hendrix isn't interested in Strong Female Characters as a trope; these characters are meant to be relatable, not inspirational. We're not supposed to think ‘I wish I was her', we're supposed to think ‘if she could, maybe I can'. And that's fine and works great, because Hendrix's stories are often campy and vaguely comedic. He can write straight-up horror– I think [b:The Final Girl Support Group 55829194 The Final Girl Support Group Grady Hendrix https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1614275199l/55829194.SY75.jpg 86047832] is pretty light on comedy; everything is drenched in tension. That book also deals with the most heavy subjects of his works: murder, specifically femicide, school shootings, and dying of cancer. If you inserted comedy into that mix, it'd feel a little lopsided.So you see where I'm going? This book deals with some pretty heavy subjects, and it's got a lot of comedy, and a very cowardly protagonist. I'm not saying the protagonist of this novel shouldn't be cowardly; one of the main themes of this book is how much the main characters are all children, and I think that's a very good and fair theme for this subject matter. I just think that the mixture of comedy, very slow pacing, and extremely serious subject matter (child sexual abuse, which is barely a spoiler as it's pretty obvious from the book's blurb and content warnings, but whatever) makes the book feel... bad. Not bad in the way a horror story should make you feel, frightened and anxious, but for me at least, it meant spending a lot of time with a girl who was doing nothing to help a very vulnerable person while the clock wound down.A lot of this book is spent sitting, waiting and talking. I understand why– I once spent a summer in Virginia and the summers there are slow and hot. The book brilliantly evokes this lazy, sweaty feeling. But knowing that every hour that passes is another hour closer to someone being sent back to one of the worst situations a child can land in makes me want to rip off my fingernails. Add to that a long conga of humorous scenes, and multiple instances where the main character could help but flinches away and I'm straight up not having a good time.But it's stretching Hendrix, who usually doesn't write about people from these intense sorts of backgrounds. You can sort of feel his focus flickering, because the book also flinches away from the characters who are out of his wheelhouse– the character with an intensely traumatic childhood, and also the Black women. This is the first Hendrix book with more than one Black character, and all three of them are alive for the whole book! It's a mixed bag for Hendrix, who kind of doesn't know what to do with these women for a lot of the novel. Without spoiling too much, they frequently feel underwritten, one of them having almost no discernible personality (beyond the fact that she never talks), and the other two existing to prop up the white main character and deliver some deus ex machinas. There's a palpable friction between the fact that Hendrix wants to write a white female character of middle class economic means as his protagonist (from the afterward, it's clear that she's based on relatives of his, so I understand this desire) and his desire to do better than his previous novels when it comes to the writing of Black and disadvantaged characters. This book really should have been about anyone but Fern, whose perspective only really gives you an everywoman account of what takes place. I wouldn't even call the underwritten aspects of the Black and disadvantaged characters an -ism, because the main character is also underwritten.In general, this film feels like a novella stretched to fit a novel's length. There's a lot of filling, a lot of the plot not progressing for convenient reasons (for example, there's a magic book that only shows important information when the main characters ‘need' it; conveniently, they only get it this info once a huge amount of time has ticked down, forcing conflict after chapters and chapters where very little happens that progresses the plot or deepens characterization). Reading the afterward and finding out that the first two drafts of this book didn't even have the titular witches really makes sense; they frequently feel misplaced, and they disappear from the story for huge swaths of time.This book feels extremely sophomoric for a writer of Hendrix's caliber, and I don't mean that in the sense that he's a perfect writer with no flaws; I mean that his previous two novels– which I really, really loved– are head and shoulders above this one in terms of craft. (You can weigh the merits of his attempts at representation for yourself.) While I have other gripes with this book, those are very much my personal feelings, which is fine, because in the end, this book isn't made for me. It kind of feels bad, I guess, because his previous books were, but I can get over that.If you want a very quirky and slightly twee story that is very light on actual horror (except for all the gore), this is a great book for you, especially if you want a story about the power of female friendship, motherhood, and a very well researched period drama.I just don't think he did enough academic research on the history of 'witchcraft' but I do appreciate that his witches were at least not more fucking Gardnerians. I deeply resent that ridiculous speech about The Burning Times-- yes, it was capitalized like that-- but I understand that it was given from the perspective of a 'witch' who was raised in a western / Mediterranean-inspired tradition, and that erroneous and ridiculous perspective is very alive and well today. We can see from the covens Hendrix thanks in the afterward that he probably picked it up from one of them, which, fine, whatever, I just hate it. (For more on this, I encourage you to read [b:The Witch: A History of Fear, from Ancient Times to the Present 34324501 The Witch A History of Fear, from Ancient Times to the Present Ronald Hutton https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1497092904l/34324501.SX50.jpg 55387180], which is excellent, informative, and is a comparatively very easy read. Apparently Hendrix did research the history of witchcraft, he just portrayed it in a way I didn't personally like, which, again, this is very much a personal quibble than an objective mark of quality. Happy to be wrong!

Straight up, this is one of my favorite books ever, so I'm invariably going to be more than a little bit biased when discussing it. I think it's gorgeous. A fantastic example of economizing the plot until only the essentials are used, the story never feels sparse or minimalist. The plot zig-zags at a leisurely pace, but neither does it ever feel slow or rushed. It's a true classic. I'll stop before I get ahead of myself. This book is absolutely wonderful, and that's all I can really say about it without revealing too much.

“You don't hire a genius to solve the most intractible imaginable problem, and then hedge him around with a lot of rules, nor try to micro-manage him from two week's distance. You turn him loose. If you need someone to follow orders, hire an idiot. In fact, an idiot would be better suited.”

This is a little speech given by Miles Vorkosigan.

There were a handful of things that I disliked about Cetaganda, but what really ruined it for me was the main character, Miles. I found him arrogant, rude, paranoid, childish, impatient, overbearing, condescending, and misogynistic. These are all fine flaws to have, in a well-built character! But Cetaganda is so deeply in love with dear darling Miles that these flaws are meant to be empathized with, accepted, if they can even be flaws!

For example, Miles habitually condescends to everyone, sneering with disdain and insulting them left and right if they cannot keep up with his superior intelligence, despite the fact that this exact strain of logic had been used against him, to hurt him and bully him, if you simply replace the ‘intelligence' with ‘physical state'. Miles also judges all women by their beauty before anything else, despite the fact that, again, the same logic has been used against him due to his disability. If Miles were aware of this internal flaw in his logic, that would be interesting. If the book itself were aware of this internal flaw of logic, that, too, would be interesting. But neither care enough about making Miles ever suffer for his poor behavior, except in the most glowingly melodramatic was possible, which absolves him of all his blame and drowns him in sympathy.

Miles has a boatload of flaws that would make him a fascinating anti-hero. He could be an amazing portrait of what growing up disabled in a viciously ablist and sexist society could do to his psyche, as he clings pathetically to his ego and intelligence, insulting everyone around him and making his own problems, dehumanizing women and them blaming them for finding him off-putting. But this is not the case, not by a landslide. That would require an understanding that Miles has flaws, instead of just quirky mean things that everyone forgives him for because he's oh! So! Smart!

Sadly, Miles is supposed to be a hero, the worst sort, the sort who are never wrong, for whom the world convulses around to aid at every turn. He ruins the book, no matter how clever the plot or nuanced the dialog (not that I found either particularly outstanding, but that's besides the point) by virtue of being the center of all morality. And, frankly, it's boring.

I fully admit to skimming this for chapters relevant to my interests (I don't care about Greek history right now), so I can't give a comprehensive analysis of the book's merits and failings. I will say that the chapter on Roman slavery felt like an afterthought and was largely under-researched. I can't tell you if that's indicative of the general trend for other parts of the book; I know comparatively less about rich Romans. I will say that the book citing the Satyricon as though it were historical fact, and treating the Augustan slavery ‘reforms' as though they were actually carried out, bodes poorly.

This is an excellent book with one fatal flaw deep at its heart, but I do think it's a necessary read. While the ideas the book relays shouldn't be new to anyone who pays attention to the current corporate landscape, the exact details of corporate intrusion into our lives are definitely worth knowing, and they're related in a simple and easily understood fashion. The book is at no point overcomplex, except perhaps when reporting on subjects that are themselves purposefully obfuscated, like when they go into the twisted morass of music listening law.

The thing that keeps this from being a truly 5 star experience, a real ‘everyone needs to read this!' knee slapping call to arms, is the way the book focuses only on artists. Artists are unimaginably abused by our current megacorp dystopia, and I think they should get their due for their labor. I think the book should mention them, and it does. But it focuses on them to the exclusion of people whose experiences with corporate abuse are far more devastating in consequence and scope. It's easy to take advantage of artists, and so Giblin and Doctorow call them the canary in the coalmine of these antics, but I think what artists really are in this situation are the most easily visible people being taken advantage of.

The book talks at length about breaking corporate chokeholds– monopolies– but it talks about doing it through legislation. It mentions the COVID pandemic but not the riots. The book points to artists and how they've been abused, then blithely mentions production line workers wearing diapers and Amazon striking. The book's use of artists as its focal point is meant to show how corporate abuse could spread from just artists and eventually abuse you, but in using artists, the implicit you is presumed middle class. Purposefully or otherwise, the book excludes the people who were alienated from their labor far, far before any musician: the people who staff Amazon warehouses, automobile factory workers, the lower middle class and working poor. The book's diligent focus on legislative fixes to the problems of corporation totally ignores the importance of riots and radical action, and the book only briefly mentions strikes and labor unions.

The final passages of the book talk about how it's a big task to take down corporate greed (it is) but how we should take heart, because their control is so self-entangled that any strike against them weakens the whole. But the book forgets that the people, workers, the disadvantaged, everyone who is preyed on by corporate capital, are also a whole. We have to protect our own, even if it scares white upper middle class economists.

This is not an incitement of Giblin or Doctorow's priorities or an attempt to guess at their class status; I am not casting aspersions on their motives in writing this book, nor saying the book is useless. I think their best intentions are in this book, and it's truly an informative and important read. But it is blinkered in its scope, and that, again, weakens the whole.