Natalia
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.
A compact story of feminine malaise told from a single point of view. It explores the dysfunctional relationship and marriage (if you can call it a marriage) between a young woman who ostensibly wants to settle down and an aloof older man who is incapable of fulfilling her needs. The dearth of intimacy between the characters persists throughout the novella, and it is striking, evoking a sense of hopelessness and in my case, frustration. It's a book about falling into the life you thought you wanted and living it all the while thinking, "Is this it? Is this all there is?"
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.
Read this book! I liked it so much that it's going to be hard for me to review. You really shouldn't know too much going in, anyway. It's perfect for fans of dystopian / sci-fi novels that are character-driven. I think the world-building is great as well - Chi gives you just enough background to make a strong impression without getting too deep into the weeds. This is a short novella and I could not put it down; I read it in a single sitting. I will be thinking about it for a long time and I expect to reread it someday.
The characters in this book seem very familiar to me. I can't say I fully identify with them - they're really close to that shallow brand of millennial influencer cringe that I tend to disdain. I didn't have to think that hard about it and I didn't particularly enjoy reading it. I remain unchanged. Still, I have to admit that Latronico has captured a distinct flavor of the malaise that ails our generation, and he writes well (or perhaps more precisely, I think the translation is good).
I expected this to be a story in which the narrator lives a seedy life, gets himself into trouble, and spills a little TMI about the sex industry in New York along the way. And technically this is a valid synopsis - but it's also totally inadequate. I mean, this book is dark. It's not noir in the style of Jim Thompson or Dorothy B. Hughes or James M. Cain. It's more garish and modern and it's totally irreverent, even disgusting at times. So don't read this if you're easily grossed out (I mean, I'm not easily grossed out and I was grossed out). It's a book that will stay with you.
I feel ambivalent. On the one hand, The Murderer is written very well. At the same time, it's another story about an emotionally stunted man who is unmotivated, cowardly, avoidant, and clearly a misogynist. Disclosure: I have read a handful of books that could be described this way and I like a lot of them (I find they're especially enjoyable where there is some form of redemption or punishment, which tends to be the case in horror novels, e.g., Rapture by Thomas Tessier). Here Roy Heath presents an excellent study of character and place, but the ending of the book left me feeling bleak.
In the words of Jane Austen, Blaise Gavender is an unmitigated and comprehensive ass. I think we can all agree on this. Iris Murdoch though… she’s something else. I liked her style so much that after reading The Bell I went hunting for her work and now I’m working through a big stack (this is #3). Highly recommend.
An educational read! Most of the book discusses problems with technology (problems that will be familiar to anyone with a pulse) but Doctorow ends by proposing solutions. His arguments got me interested in the concept of technofeudalism so I went out and bought another book about it (at my local bookshop NOT Amazon, boo, hiss) - that’s how interesting Enshittification was to me.
I listened to the audiobook which Doctorow narrated - I’d recommend it, the production is good.
This was my intro to Balzac. It’s not deep in terms of its plot or characters but it showcased his writing in a flattering light. The most interesting part was the long passage about Parisian society, which precedes the introduction of the protagonist. I enjoyed Balzac’s style and will continue reading his work.
On the 20-mile bike ride home to surprise her mother with a weekend visit from school, Galla reflects on her desolate childhood as an Italian immigrant in rural France. She’s the oldest of several sisters who live on a miserable piece of land with their hard working mother and cold, abusive father. Poverty casts an omnipresent gloom over Galla’s life, alienating her from her classmates and teachers. Pain, cold, hunger, and humiliation she endures with resolve, aided by a cache of warm memories that is tragically small. The writing is captivating and Galla’s voice is direct. This was a quick read, but it formed a strong impression. I hope more of Cagnati’s work will be translated into English some day.
It wouldn’t be fair for me to rate this collection of essays today because it’s 2025. Most of the topics West discusses will be very familiar to liberals, millennials, and feminists (the intersection of which seems to be the intended audience). I have heard her arguments time and time again, and even after such a short time, so much else has happened that the book feels dated. However I will say that West’s delivery is consistently sharp and funny - her essays were often fun to read even if I wasn’t learning anything new.
This is a well written, fast paced workplace comedy/drama about a middle aged loan officer who undergoes a rapid and alarming personality change, transforming from a quiet people pleaser into a raving megalomaniac overnight. Frankie Fitzgibbons is portrayed as a mentally disturbed, tyrannical, but charismatic monster - not unlike how many people see Donald Trump today. The book was written in 1991; doubtlessly Frankie’s character was more absurd back then. Even in the shadow of Trump’s grimy spectacle, I found many passages amusing. Just be warned that reading it in 2025 might not have the same effect as it would’ve when it was first published.
This story is told by Elizabeth, a woman who was involved with a murderer (Bell) who was just released from prison. As the story unfolds, we learn about the events that got her locked away and in doing so Elizabeth reveals her obsession with Bell. She doesn't reveal the victim until the end, which kept me in suspense, but I became frustrated with her dropping hints and refusing to follow through - there's a lot of "if I had only known" and "so I thought" and "I believed her at the time" etc. I wanted to like this book, but the narrator's meandering style did not work for me. Also, she and the other characters were hard to relate to. I guess I was expecting more suspense. I'd imagine if I'd read The Wings of the Dove before this, I would have put the book down midway (there were a lot of references to it in the book and when I looked it up at the end, I found that the plots are pretty similar).
Whipple serves a bitter slice of life to her characters, but to this reader her phrasing couldn’t be sweeter.
Her prose is insightful and restrained and captivating. I’ve been searching for her books for a long time and I was recently delighted to learn that Persephone Books now offers a few of her titles as audiobooks. Of course I bought all them. This is the first one I’ve listened to and Susan Wooldridge’s narration is perfect.
I didn’t know much about this book going in and I won’t summarize the plot here. If you like realism, if you like character-driven stories, if you feel things deeply and are curious about the inner lives of others, if you want to be attuned to the poetry of everyday events, then you should give this book a try.
I started out liking this story, but once the protagonist (Ben) became an adult I found myself speed-reading. Not in a "can't want to see what happens" kind of way, but in an "hurry up and get to the good stuff" kind of way, which means I'm not enjoying myself. To explain why I’m losing interest, I’d first point to the dialogue between the main characters - why is it so mundane, so shallow? We see a little bit into the minds of Ben and Ellen on their own, but when they are together, instead of talking about Ben’s past, his aunt’s death, their feelings about moving, Ellen’s experience with workplace sexism (all of which could be useful for building tension between them, fleshing our their personalities, and so forth) - we hear them murmuring to the kids, we hear their bedroom banter, we hear them talking about the book they’re writing. Who cares? Because none of this seems to relate to the mysterious frost monster / snow ghost / ice demon or whatever malevolent force the book is ostensibly about. I’m not even seeing much foreshadowing of family conflict, which I was sort of expecting. But then again, I’m speed-reading, and maybe I missed something. Whatever the case, the length of my TBR list is too long to justify pursuing this one. Sorry, Mr. Campbell. DNF.
Rating a collection like this is always so difficult. Some stories I loved, some I liked, and some I found completely baffling. I want to go back in time and take a college course on this book, with someone more knowledgeable to guide me and provide the context I’m missing so I can thoroughly appreciate it. Still, Ocampo’s writing is singular, and it’s refreshing to read one of her stories in between books, like a sort of literary palate cleanser. If you’re like me you won’t be able to breeze through this, and you won’t always be in the mood for it - but if you take your time with it you’ll be rewarded.
My favorite stories were in the first half of the book (The Imposter, a novella, was especially intriguing). The characters are often women and children confronting a reality that is brutal and strange. There are fantastical elements, but Ocampo’s terse, straightforward style doesn’t quite fit in the box where I keep my impression of magical realism. I like that. Her voice is unique.
The title is the synopsis. It starts out as a charming, kind of funny book, but ultimately the lighthearted prose places the story's darkness into stark relief. It's about how you can live life by just sort of floating along without ever feeling anything deeply, without desire and despair, comfortable and empty, and then one day you wake up and realize you weren't living at all.
