Tag: Book Review

The Fathers: Rambling Review

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A coincidence is all that’s necessary to set into motion matters of fortune and fate. What joys and tragedies are stirred as a consequence of experience? Two families each welcome their own baby boy, both born on the same day…and while meandering around the hospital, their fathers meet by chance. Friendships form, but not here…Dan and Jada couldn’t be more different, but when Dan’s world collapses, Jada becomes something of an enabler, and from there things spiral out of control in a pure ‘John Niven fashion’ that dropped my jaw more than thrice. ‘The Fathers’ is a top shelf addition to Niven’s body of work. 

This book had me laughing out loud multiple times, tear up on a few occasions, and with one moment I set the book to the floor and wept. I hadn’t been hit this hard since ‘The Blood of the Lamb’ by Peter de Vris. It’s a strange and liberating thing when art elicits an emotion you weren’t anticipating. I expect Niven will get me to laugh, think, and potentially cause me to shed a tear or two, but this was full-blown uncontrollable quiet weeping in the night. John is the kind of writer who conveys the human experience with such grace and grit, his work is nothing but the highest quality, and ‘The Fathers’ is his finest piece of fiction yet. 

My only criticism is that it had to end. This was such a pleasing read. From the heights to the lows beneath whatever you’d call ‘rock bottom’ of parenting, to a world of crime that ranges from petty to ultra violent, to the critique and commentary on class pitfalls and privileges, ‘The Fathers’ contains a range that keeps pages turning. The tone pivots from sentimental to wretched as quickly as one could read, and those moments are laid out in such a way…never thought I’d find myself laughing so hard at the description of a McDonald’s apple pie. 

      To break my heart with fiction is possible, but this book destroyed me. The obsessive ‘what-if’ moments that followed the tragedy is something that will trouble those knee-deep in grief. 

In another book that broke my heart, ‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers,’ a crow describes grief as an essential part of life, but to beware one’s dealings with grief do not dissolve into despair. Dan went beyond despair…finding a tunnel beneath his own rock bottom, and his character development surprised me. His mindset is as captivating as it is tragic. I thoroughly enjoyed ‘The Fathers’ by John Niven. I needed every bit of this book. 

The Girl in the Eagle’s Talons:Rambling Review

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    The Millennium Series has reached book seven with The Girl in the Eagle’s Talons. A new author has taken the reigns, and Karin Smirnoff has gone beyond my expectations with her first contribution.

            Stieg Larsson’s initial vision for the series ran the course of ten novels, for which he had outlined. He turned in the initial trilogy to the publisher and died shortly thereafter. David Lagercrantz took up the series and ran a trilogy of his own, contributing more quality work that veered away from Larsson’s outlines. Karin Smirnoff offers a fresh take that maintains the quality storytelling while exploring critical analysis of characters that has resulted in growth. Lisbeth Salander has been seemed so human on the page, as Larsson and Lagercrantz sought to make her more of an enigma. Smirnoff’s interpretation of Salander has graced her with a personality (especially in her dialog, both internal and with other people) that had been lacking in previous novels for the sake of maintaining a persona shrouded in mystery.

            There are bits of humor where I hadn’t noticed any in previous novels. Smirnoff uses her narrative voice to amplify the internal dialog of whoever is on the page in a given moment/scene. When an unruly man presents violent intent, Lisbeth intervenes to protect a friend and makes an observation…SIDE NOTE-I’m sitting in my living room…end of the night…knee deep in reading this book. I’m wearing the singular pair of sweatpants I own…the only pair I’ve ever owned-a gift I’ve had for less than a month…when I come across this line, “thank you God for making sweatpants the uniform of men with defective genes” (178). These thoughts are peppered throughout the novel and add to the narrative quality that brings these characters to life.

            This more expressive Salander may be the result of a familial relationship where her bloodline isn’t out to kill her. Svala is a thirteen year old on the edge of being submitted to the foster care system in Sweden. Lisbeth is contacted and tasked with caring for the girl temporarily while the situation gets sorted out. It become clear Svala is in danger, and they’ve more in common than Lisbeth initially wants to admit. Lisbeth acknowledges that the relationship has upended her situation. “Before, she only had herself. Having another person in your life pushes other things to one side” (172).

            Another relationship that gets a closer examination than before is that of Mikael Blomkvist and his daughter, Pernilla. Blomkvist has always been a distant lackluster father. His excuse is the same as it was for all the women in his life-that his work as a journalist was blatantly more important. He’s a grandfather now, and his publication is no longer in print…this identity crisis allows him to make room in his life for other people, but it seems a little late to mend these bridges, as Pernilla struggles to accommodate an absent father who suddenly cares…if only a little bit more than before. Old hurt is made new once the action of the story puts stress on these characters, and I’m here for it.

    The quality of the narrative voice is what makes this novel. While analyzing the motives of a would-be volunteered killer the narrative voice reflects a self-awareness that still chooses to do wrong, as Peder Sandberg considers that, “An individual always has choices. The destructive ones present themselves most readily because they do not require mutual understanding…whereas unconditional love, altruism and general compassion are acquired, and also take more energy” (324). Another favorite observation focuses on a vulnerable moment with Svala. It’s shown to a voyeuristic audience the way she cries, “In silence so nobody can hear. A valve that opens, lets the excess pressure hiss out and then closes again” (124). These excursions through the thoughts other people can’t quite express is a highlight of this book. A cleaner tasked with killing for hire, has a crisis of conscience as he, “pours himself another drop of whisky and gathers his words. He has never said them out loud. But they have always been playing, like a record that never ends” (279). Whether it’s a matter of choice, sorrow, or selective words, there’s a performative aspect to the things people can’t do in front of others that is shown in a way that reveals the humanity of everyone who is subject of this narrative voice.

            I fell in love with the characters and story world. It’s kept me coming back, and I tend to prefer standalone novels. I’ll occasionally check out a sequel or series, but this is the only series of this length I’ve read, and will continue to read…especially if Smirnoff continues to be at the helm. This is a fun read, full of quality.

Grief is the Thing with Feathers: a Rambling Review

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Tragedy is the genre element that attracts me with the strongest gravitational pull. I live for stories that impact me with such force that I’m left doubled over in sorrow…makes me feel alive, and all that. But what of the aftermath? What of grief?

Most novels from modernity onward, have a tendency to include past events that haunt the present, making any future an impossible prospect. ‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers’ begins after the sudden and unexpected passing of an unnamed woman and does a great deal of perspective jumping between her widower, their two children, and a crow that visits and refuses to leave until our widower is no longer ‘helpless.’

The crow could’ve been any supernatural specter of sorts, but Max Porter’s decision to make this entity a crow reminds me of Poe’s ‘The Raven.’ Instead of encouraging madness in the face of loss, the crow seeks to comfort our widower by forcing him to deal with the discomfort in whatever dose he feels appropriate to administer in any given moment. The crow also seeks to protect the family from various demons (real or imagined) that would cause them to wallow in despair.

It reads more like a thematic collection of poetry than a traditional novel, but the narrative arch is solid, concise, and I feel like old friends with characters whose names are never given.

‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers’ is a fundamental exercise in loss, and is one of the most authentic expressions of grief I’ve read in fiction in some time. When the crow grants himself permission to leave, he refers to the boys as, “Connoisseurs…of how to miss a mother/My absolute pleasure” (110). In deriving pleasure in guiding them through grief, the crow makes clear his purpose: coaching on how to functionally live, without.

The novel concludes with the father and sons spreading ashes at a body of water. I was left broken by the line, “I said her name/The ashes stirred and seemed eager so I tilted the tin and I yelled into the wind/I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU” (114). With this, I’ve learned that grief hits just as hard as tragedy, itself. It lingers long after the explosive event that changes lives, and shapes you into something different than what you were, before.

‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers’ is the second book to make me cry, this year.

The Last Tycoon:Fitzgerald, Nostalgia, and Writing

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The prose of F. Scott Fitzgerald is intoxicating. It’s been a decade since I studied The Great Gatsby at Ohio State, and for the time being I’ve decided to put off rereading that novel until the 100-year anniversary of its initial publication. The Last Tycoon appeals due to the lure of a final novel, one last attempt to satisfy an itch with something new. The unfortunate truth is that the unfinished novel reads like a draft. It jumps on a dime between first and third person, and seems so rough in the early pages that I contemplated whether or not to finish it.

            Monroe Stahr is an elite Hollywood producer who meets Kathleen Moore about halfway through the novel. The trademarked romance of Fitzgerald’s style captivates from that point onward, in spite of the questionable motives that attracts Stahr to Moore in the first place (her looks remind him of his deceased wife). Though the romance fizzles out as Kathleen is to marry another, Monroe carries on and the novel ends rather suddenly due to the death of the author and editorial overreach to reel in the narrative while maintaining a sense of conclusion while there is still quality material.

            Stahr carries the weight of terminal illness, and pushes himself to keep working at the pace he maintained while healthy. It reminds me of a hyper-masculine work culture that romanticizes burnout and exhaustion over questioning why one lives in such a way. “Fatigue was a drug as well as a poison and Stahr apparently derived some rare almost physical pleasure from working lightheaded with weariness…a perversion of the life force he had seen before but he had almost stopped trying to interfere with it…a hollow triumph of killing and preserving the shell,” (110) seems all too commonplace in modern workplace culture. It isn’t ‘rare’ at all in the sense that keeping oneself preoccupied prevents them from critically looking inward. And yet, it’s romantic escapism that reminds one that they are alive…as, “the little trip they made was one of the best times he had ever had in life. It was certainly one of the times when, if he knew he was going to die, it was not tonight.” (112)

            The theme of nostalgia runs through the work of Fitzgerald in such a way as to indulge in the waters in which one will inevitably sink, and reveal it for the comforting lies it tends to offer. The notion that one could have, “passionate loyalty to an imaginary past.” (119) defines Fitzgerald’s work and life. Reconstructing the past seems to be the only future a great many of us can imagine. How good was it really…? And yet…

            One thing literature does is serve as a reminder how much or little things change over time. The tension between Hollywood producers and writers has brought on two writers’ strikes in the twenty-first century. All the conflict about living wages and being able to simply make ends meet while the profits of their labor makes others rich seems to be as old as the establishment of film making as big business. A line from The Last Tycoon shows how much the same it was then, “Writers…they’re the farmers of this business…They grow the grain but they’re not in at the feast. Their feeling toward the producer is like the farmers’ resentment of the city fellow.” (121)

            Again, The Last Tycoon felt like a draft and not a complete novel, but it still managed to contain traces of magic that made it worth the read. I would’ve preferred a world where Fitzgerald lived long enough to finish this one to his standards, but I’m grateful for this glimpse into his process, as it reminds me of Trimalchio.

Someone Who Will Love You In All Your Damaged Glory:Rambling Review

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I stumbled upon this book because I’m a fan of Bojack Horseman. It’s difficult to tell people, “No, seriously…it’s my favorite show.” I gave it a chance when it first came out, and checked out after two episodes. I thought it was funny, but maybe it was just another run of the mill raunchy animated adult comedy. It wasn’t until the fourth season had dropped that someone recommended it and I gave the show another spin. Had I just kept watching the first season I would’ve been hooked. The quality storytelling just kept getting better right up until Netflix does what Netflix takes joy in doing…you know…cutting a show down before it’s done. I’m eternally grateful that the writers were given a heads up and wrapped up the story as best they could with the time they had. But I digress, those six seasons of television remain among my favorite, and I don’t see anything coming close.

            So when I heard that the creator of Bojack Horseman, Raphael Bob-Waksberg, had published a collection of short stories, I jumped at the opportunity for something more. Someone Who Will Love You In All Your Damaged Glory stands on its own as something wholly independent and special, as I had expected it to be. It’s described on the back cover as an, “offbeat collection of short stories about love-the best and worst thing in the universe.” The subject of love is woven throughout each story through different angles. I initially believed I was in for a ride that explored romantic love and romantic love only, as the first 100 pages consist of narratives exploring exactly that. We break from the romantic variety with Rufus, a touching narrative from the perspective of a noble dog who loves his ‘Manmonster.’ While the manmonster engages with romantic partners and other various friendships, the story fixates on the relationship between the dog and person. You Want to Know What Plays Are Like? is a personal favorite that explores the complexities of family through the scope of frayed sibling relationships where our protagonist tells us about seeing a show written by her brother…that happens to be about a vacation they took. Their deceased sibling has her drug issues addressed in the play, a departure from the burden of their shared reality.

            Rewind a bit…I fell for this book immediately. I took my daughter to her weekly dance lesson, saw her into the studio, and went to a chair in the waiting room with the intent to break the ice. The first story is two little pages. A quick snippet of style and substance titled Salted Circus Cashews, Swear to God had me laughing in front of strangers as it broke my heart on the same page.

            These stories vary in length, ranging from a couple of pages to over 40. The collection isn’t tied to one approach, as we’re offered first, second, and third person accounts throughout. To circle back to the beginning, at a multitude of points I’m reminded of Bojack Horseman and the writing styles used to drive the narratives of the show, specifically, the internal dialog utilized in a day in Bojack’s life from an episode called Stupid Piece of Shit. It’s absurd at times, departing from cultural norms entirely to establish different imagined worlds…like how many goats should be sacrificed at a wedding? This was a lovely read that I truly enjoyed. For fans of the show, or readers who simply want to read about love with weighted nuance, Someone Who Will Love You In All Your Damaged Glory is worth the read.

The Candy House:Rambling Book Review

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Hesitancy kept me from Jennifer Egan’s work for far too long. I’d been introduced to various chapters of A Visit from the Goon Squad at the Ohio State University in 2014, and didn’t glance back until a peer told me it was his favorite novel. I bought a paperback copy of the Pulitzer winner, put it in my bookcase, and let it ferment until the day came that I needed it…and when that day came I was so grateful for it. I was angry with myself, too, for having neglected it in the abyss of my hypothetical TBR pile. It helped to spark a project I’m still working on.

A follow-up/companion novel was published in 2022. The Candy House revisits some characters from A Visit from the Goon Squad, introduces others, and spans through lifetimes. This novel has similar features in that the narratives are fractured, jumping from characters and through time, all while crafting a cohesive world where the focus is no longer on the human follies that take shape in the music industry, but on a piece of science fiction where individual psychology forges a connection between the reader and every person on the page. Egan’s prose had me placing the book down at times to allow a line to linger over my thoughts. Its brokenness is a feature, not a bug, and as art, it’s a most beautifully written piece of work.

Depression had taken me away from reading in 2022. I sought to purchase The Candy House the day it was released, but my local bookstore didn’t have it on hand. I went to Twitter and made some noise about it. I wasn’t sure what this would accomplish, but Jennifer Egan personally reached out to me to ask which store didn’t have it. I felt as though I’d gotten someone in trouble, but gave the details anyway. She sent autographed copies to my local shop, and the shop reached out to me since I had inquired about it. I was so excited that I took it home, sent pictures and the story to my friends, and let it sit in my bookcase until December. Once I had found the wherewithal to read it, I felt revitalized by the first chapter/story. It’s all so rich with human honesty. Tension and drama I associate with familial ties are woven throughout, all with a drop or two of science fiction that doesn’t overcompensate…no; it drives the story forward without being over the top. It’s a modest vehicle for that which alienates us and brings us together in the same sweeping gesture/function.

I’m sorry if this seems rambling. It’s hard to pin down that feeling when literature makes you feel alive, but this book has done it for me. I can’t recommend The Candy House enough. I hope I’m not going too far in saying this, but it was better than Goon Squad…on that note…read them both.

Book Review: Calibration 74

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This short book by William F. Aicher is a quick read if you opt to treat it as such. On the other side of the same coin, we find something dense that is better digested in smaller pieces over time. The later is how I decided to approach this work. Aicher takes us through a narrative of a mind that is haunted, though it seeks a closure that can never be found. Short chapters, or ‘calibrations’ offer 74 separate segments over 186 pages. It’s an uncompromising romp through psychological terrain of the damaged variety, right up my ally. Calibration 74 is a harrowing exploration of experimental fiction that is worth a deeper dive, so give it the time of day. 

            Rich in thought provoking prose and vivid imagery, I take solace in relatable poetry, if such a thing should be admitted. Our narrator is unreliable in direct ways that relate to numerical obsession, in the moments where he miscounts. It happened on one occasion where he’s counting large numbers, making big picture statements/asking big picture questions between the numbers, 

[One billion four hundred twenty-eight million two hundred sixty-three five hundred and nine. 

The soul is indistinguishable from the body. 

One billion four hundred twenty-eight million two hundred sixty-three five hundred and nine. 

Where do we go when we die?]

Numerical obsession and the fallacy of the human mind is the vessel that moves the story forward. Before and after this hiccup, the count progresses as expected. This break from the logical pattern is enough to suggest the blur is intentional. 

I found solace in the rhythmic use of language. It’s a scattered collection of ashes and even at my slow pace I struggled with authorial intent, so I placed my own meaning where I saw fit. Between the covers, Aicher’s philosophical background is in full view. Direct answers are elusive, but that’s the fun of this kind of read. I definitely recommend Calibration 74. Give it a read.

The Little Demons Inside: A Book Review

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In a story that follows multiple people, I found myself knee deep in personal reflection. The Little Demons Inside by Micah Chaim Thomas supplied me with a full range of emotion through clear, thoughtful prose. He’s created a story world that is all too real. It’s not a place I want to live, but I’m afraid we may occupy a version of it. 

The book opens with fire and action, we’re given chemistry that lingers and becomes romance, and the horrors of corrupt people with power threaten us from all angles. The writing is strong, transitions are fluid, and the characters are fleshed out people who have brought me to care. 

Various characters, coupled with the narrator offer personal insight that critiques human nature with modern technology. As we’re still breaking the ice, I caught a line that seems a familiar thought to me. While describing smartphones, “You see, these narcissism toys, they keep us looking at the surface, they keep us from searching inward” (72). What we find by the end of the novel is that internal vision…and it’s bleak. The constant cultural conditioning to be the best little cog you can be is only overshadowed by a dream where your digitized narcissism is harvested for profit, leaving the subject apathetic or depressed. As with social media, you are the product. The algorithm figures you out, and your own tendencies become the fruit for an advertising campaign. The story doesn’t beat you over the head with this, but it’s where I found myself.

Though the darkness of the philosophy wants to exist in a vacuum, Thomas offers various insights to humor and humility that shines through. We’re left with a quality novel that fulfilled my expectations in that I was both made to think, and entertained. 

Book Review: The Fuck-It List

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Some people read for the purposes of escapism. The Fuck-It List by John Niven will not provide you with that, as his scathing brand of satire is all too realistic. It’s not a casual read that’ll take you out of the discomfort of our moment in history. The year is 2026, the troubles that burden America have only gotten worse, and Frank Brill has terminal cancer. The diagnosis doesn’t come as a surprise, and allows Frank to give himself permission to go on a murder spree. Does this sound similar to Breaking Bad without the crystal meth? Sure. But the unique perspective that Niven offers maintains my investment in the protagonist.

My favorite thing about Niven is his ability to stir empathy by creating flawed characters that are all too relatable.  Frank Brill is at the end of his life and decides to carry through as much of a hit list as he can manage. It sounds like a violent romp for the sake of it and I’d be a liar to claim it’s not, but the motives, sense of loss, and weight of the past that Frank reflects upon creates a believable portrait who gains my support. That probably says more about me than anything else.

I’ll admit, this book isn’t for everyone, but if you want an all too real satirical reflection of America in the filthiest mirror one could find, The Fuck-It List delivers. It kept me turning pages. The stakes get higher with each name Frank Brill stalks down. I enjoyed this immensely, as I do anytime Niven puts out a novel.

Fuck It List

The Girl Who Lived Twice: Book Review

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The Girl Who Lived Twice by David Lagercrantz is the sixth installment in the Millennium Series. While I’ve enjoyed the Lagercrantz contributions to the Stieg Larsson trilogy, this novel brings the larger story arch full circle that has left me satisfied. Lagercrantz has proven himself to be worthy of carrying this torch. I’ve stated before that I’ll continue to read as long as Lagercrantz writes the series, and with this book he succeeds in establishing his name with the greater story world. It’s his series, now.

In the novel, Lisbeth Salander gives chase to ghosts of the past while they simultaneously haunt her. Her twin sister, Camilla, remains Lisbeth’s rival. Bad blood simmers until violence emerges at the surface. The potential for chaos spills over and into the life of her friend, Mikael Blomkvist, and forces that are out to destroy them bring them together again.

Blomkvist spends his time chasing a story about a climb up Mt. Everest where life was lost some dozen years prior to. A homeless man who used to be a Sherpa had wanted to tell his story, but madness and murder brought only questions to Blomkvist.

Themes of a haunting past as it complicates the present is central to the novel, and only by breaking those ties are we capable of moving on and reclaiming ourselves. This story plays with such elements in ways that kept me turning the pages and missing out on sleep.

The side characters that have been central to the previous five novels are pretty well left on the sidelines this time around. Berger and Bublanski exist and contribute within the confines of their established roles, but they’re much further in the background compared to earlier stories. Erika Berger is in the middle of a divorce, but beyond that surface detail there’s little of her, and Bublanski is there to serve his purpose as a police officer, and little else. If there’s anything I thought the novel could’ve used more of, it’s the secondary characters.

Other side characters are brought forward to reveal more about Camilla’s world, and the intricacies of her criminal network. Hackers and a hit man loyal to the memory of Camilla’s father fill the spaces left vacant by those who’ve made more regular appearances.

That’s the long and short of it; I enjoyed this book. I’ve enjoyed this series. Without spoiling anything, this would be a fine place to end the series, or pivot to some new direction. I’m hoping for the later, as the central cast of characters keeps me coming back. It’d be nice to see Larsson’s initial vision of ten novels through to the end, though the path there is much different with Lagercrantz at the helm.

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