Natalia
The plot of the Golden Gizmo is pretty far-fetched. Con artists and schemers behind every corner! A talking, singing doberman! Cars, booze, and gold galore! And of course, one good-for-nothing dame with an express ticket to hell. It was gritty, but not as dark as some of Thompson's other works. Fun, fast-paced, and easy to read in a sitting or two.
It's hard to summarize this book. I went in expecting fantasy, or maybe some magical realism. But it's not quite either of those. I guess I'd call it a philosophical novel, a novel about possibilities, about historicity and mythology and the cultural baggage we carry. There is also a lot of character building and exposition - it seems like Crowley is laying the groundwork for the rest of the story (which spans four books in total) and he isn't interested in rushing the reader through it. But the writing was so lyrical, listening to John Crowley read it out loud was a pleasant experience. The man has a way with words. I didn't find myself growing impatient with the pacing (which is unhurried, reflective, and jumps between different time points and perspectives), but sometimes I was confused about where he was taking me. In spite of my ambivalence, I'm planning to read the second book, Love and Sleep.
It feels wrong to give a Murdoch novel a rating this low but it really dragged. So far I’ve read The Bell, The Sacred and Profane Love Machine, and Jackson’s Dilemma, and I liked all three better than this one. I think there were too many characters and I couldn’t get engage with any of them - they didn’t feel very distinct to me. I almost DNF but I was too far in to give up.
This is my 2nd book by Ingalls and I absolutely loved it despite her (seemingly) deeply embedded cynicism about heterosexual partnerships. She is not wrong, she tells it like it is. I’ve coincidentally read a bunch of books dealing with this topic (mainly written by women) this month and it falls well within the bounds of normalcy. Ingalls handles it deftly.
Anyway, the female lead Milly is married to an absolute cad - let’s get that out of the way. Most of the novel is told from his perspective, possibly to highlight that he’s (am i repeating myself) AN ABSOLUTE CAD. Still, he is very much a human being. (He’s even relatable in certain moments which is a testament to Ingalls’ skills. It’s like, I dislike him but I get it, he’s a middle aged man and hey I was 14 once!) There is a lot of good impressive stuff that happens between the lines in this book and I liked it, I liked the freedom to interpret what happened my own way even though i was eased along a certain path. Highly recommend.
The tragedies Quiroga experienced during his life certainly influenced these stories, which feature death, love and loss as major themes. The collection grew stronger in the latter half of the book (there were a couple I felt indifferently about). But the prose shines. See here:
”Cinematography sets, those film studios around which millions of faces rotate in an orbit of insatiable curiosity and unrealizable daydreams, inherited from defunct painting studios the legend of lavish orgies on art's altar.
The free spirit characteristic of great actors, on one hand, and the bloated salaries they show off, on the other, explain those festivals whose sole objective is more often than not to maintain the vibrancy of public awe, before the fantastic, distant Hollywood stars.”
A well-written, sometimes funny, but mostly depressing book about an alcoholic, self-sabotaging bartender and his regular patrons. The people in this book have some serious problems, protagonist included. It was pretty dark but it was still a page-turner. I like it better than French Exit but nowhere near as much as The Sisters Brothers, which are the other two books I've read by DeWitt.
Unexpectedly, the twists and turns in this book left me feeling irritated and unsatisfied. Some were predictable and others felt outright bonkers, like they were present for the sole purpose of shocking the reader (kind of like when there are gratuitous jump scares in a horror movie). I did not like the way it ended. To be fair, I knew what I was signing up for - a fun story that's designed to entertain without requiring too much effort from the reader (in my case, listener). And for many people I think the story will meet this expectation.
A combination of two elements sapped the fun out of it for me - first and most importantly, I thought the main character was stupid. Her decisions and emotional reactions often did not make sense to me. Second, I solved a key element of the mystery (and I am not particularly good at this). I was disappointed because I wanted to be confounded to fully appreciate the big reveal. But when it came, it wasn't over - there was this other crazy thing that emerged, like the author was trying to make up for the main mystery being obvious. Others would surely disagree, but I could've done without it. The pieces fell together but it still seemed absurd. Take my review with a grain of salt though, there are plenty of batsh*t crazy mysteries that I absolutely love, it's just that for some reason this didn't work for me.
This is a compact book about a schizophrenic young woman's experience in a mental institution. While mental illness is the main theme, this read more like a coming-of-age story, except, well... schizophrenia. It was an interesting psychological portrait that was well-written, but I left a little bit unsatisfied. Maybe I wanted it to go deeper. Maybe I wanted to know what happened to the protagonist later on. It's hard for me to articulate why I didn't have a stronger response to the story, but overall it left me feeling 'meh.'
I'm impressed. The prose is straightforward and the length is minimal, yet Jaeggy manages to make a very strong impression. This is a book about girlhood, desire, inhibition, depression, friendship, and of course, discipline. There is a lot to relate to, a lot to consider, in this little novella. Not much happens and we only hear one point of view, but it ended up feeling like a rather complex story. I admire the author's style and look forward to reading more of her work.
Brooks makes a potent argument for the relevance of the humanities in a society that increasingly emphasizes (and perhaps overvalues) the acquisition of instrumental knowledge. This is a thought provoking book that draws on psychology, history, literature and law without getting lost in the weeds. It made me feel nostalgic about my liberal arts education. I might’ve preferred a little more depth, but I think it’s a good jumping off point for exploring other works on narratology and literary theory.
What a gem! The introduction explains that people weren't ready for this book when it came out in the 1960s because at the time if you were Black or queer - or god forbid, both Black AND queer - you were supposed to be writing about struggles, slavery, The South, civil rights, discrimination, etc. But Henry Van Dyke penned a Midwest parlour room comedy-drama narrated by a queer Black scholar who, though orphaned, is remarkably untroubled, spending most of his days studying, smoking cigarettes, and making sure his elderly housemates stay out of trouble. Certainly there is tragedy lurking within the story, but it is presented in a matter-of-fact style that makes for easy reading.
This short novel is about two women crossing paths in an isolated northern town. Katri (a cynic) is a young, possibly autistic woman taking care of her younger brother, and Anna (a dreamer) is a rich, elderly children's book illustrator living alone in her dead parents' mansion. When they enter into each other's lives, both emerge transformed. It's not a story where lots of things happen - it's more about how we are shaped by the people around us, for better or worse. It's about two ideologically dissimilar people trying to navigate their lives in parallel.
This book is just so incredibly dark and messed up - as I would expect from the author of Audition (a book which I have not read because I think I know enough based on the movie). It's like a car accident you can't look away from. It was mercifully brief and kept me on the edge of my seat - I read it in a couple hours. Did I enjoy it? No, definitely not. Did I appreciate the book? Yes, I would say so. I especially enjoyed the irony of opposing the two protagonists as Murakami did. It brought to mind the dynamic captured by the protagonists of the old Italian film 'The Laughing Woman' (1969), although the tone and outcome was completely different.
Also note that this story deals explicitly with child abuse and if you are sensitive to reading about such things, I would recommend you steer clear.
A short framework tale about the dark history of a small village - ultimately a sort of fable, but an entertaining and creepy one. The style is engaging and well written, and I would not be put off by the author's Christian moral agenda (Gotthelf was a clergyman). There is plenty of terror, violence, and downright grotesque imagery to satisfy the horror aficionado.
Originally this novella was published as part of The Pale King. I have not read The Pale King because - accountants, ugh. (Let me explain. I'm the black sheep in a family of accountants and I cannot imagine being entertained reading about the activities of IRS agents, who, according to my kin, are nothing but uptight, petty, money-grubbing men and women who love nothing better than to audit honest, hard-working people.) Well. I have never met an IRS agent in person, but thanks to David Foster Wallace I've now met one in a book and I am astonished to say that it was a pleasure. (What is happening to me?)
DFW has a way of getting into people's heads and translating them into characters on a page, and if you have read him before you know that his style is singular. The novella is presented in a monologue; the unnamed narrator is explaining how he got his sh*t together and became an IRS agent following his parents divorce in the 1970s and his father's untimely death. It's funny, it's sad, it's self-effacing. The way the narrator talks about his mother and father is just so, so good. It feels honest but not sentimental. If you've lost a parent while you were still young, before your parent-child relationship could change into a relationship between two adults, then you know what it feels like to be robbed of your future, and you know what it's like to spend hours ruminating about the glimpses you stole that hinted at who they really were, the questions you never asked, and the things you never said. Who are my parents, anyway, once I'm mature enough to look beyond their parenthood and see them as people? How do our identities reinforce and oppose one another? These are the sort of questions the book explores.
This book was hard to put down; I read it in one sitting. Here you won't find the footnotes characteristic of DFW in Infinite Jest or his various essays - I think the prose is simpler and cleaner but just as compelling, maybe even more so.