I've been enjoying the holiday revelry so didn't post last week's review. It's not much of a review anyway. Just Forever Odd by Dean Koontz. It's a sequel to his delightful 2003 novel Odd Thomas, which I enjoyed thoroughly.
Forever Odd features the same main character, Odd Thomas, a young man who "sees dead people" and tells about his adventures in a light, sardonic way, voiced in both audiobooks by David Aaron Baker. In this second installment of what appears to be a series in the making, Odd is coping with a tragedy dealt him at the end of the first novel. He wakes up in the middle of the night to see the ghost of a friend's father. He investigates and finds his friend has been kidnapped. Odd uses his talent for "psychic magnetism" to track down the friend and encounters more than he bargained for in the kidnappers.
Unlike most of Koontz's books, the first of our adventures with Odd was tender and pure. Very little heavy-handed horror. Just the story of an ordinary young man who is not, after all, ordinary.
I imagine it's hard to capture the magic of such a character twice, but Koontz manages it, with the help of David Aaron Baker. Forever Odd is a nice visit with Odd again, but the plot is overblown at times, boring at others. This book, unlike the first, can't stand alone. It feels like the stepping stone it is.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Hey Girl, Let’s Research!
I finished listening to The Rule of Four this morning. Usually, after I finish an audiobook, I like to give myself a little breathing room. I turn on the radio for the rest of the ride home or else ride in silence, thinking about the book. The amount of time I need for post-listening contemplation directly correlates to the amount I liked the book.
After The Rule of Four, I immediately tore into the plastic wrapping of another book.
It’s not that I hated The Rule of Four. It had some interesting elements and a lovely turn of phrase here and there.
In it, two seniors at Princeton are on the verge of solving the mysteries contained in a massive and complicated 500-year-old book called the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili. But the closer they get, the more people want to beat them to the punch and steal the thunder for themselves. Murder and mayhem ensues.
My issue with The Rule of Four is that, like its main characters, the light comes on in its eyes only when it’s discussing the Hypnerotomachia. These are simultaneously the best parts and the worst – fascinating and energetic on one hand, dense and complicated on the other. Listening to the information about the Hypnerotomachia is sort of like trying to watch an intriguing History Channel documentary while fighting sleep.
Then there’s the rest of the book. The murder, arson and romance that the authors use to turn this into a novel rather than a fictional research paper feels secondary and, frankly, half-assed.
The murder mystery is clunky and predictable. Did I care who murdered Bill Stein? Not really. Did I care who murdered the next guy? Eh. Did I guess who did both? Of course.
So when the main characters finally figure it out, I rolled my eyes. These are guys that can solve complex riddles and codes no other scholars before them in 500 years could decipher, and yet they can’t determine who the murderer is? Come on.
The two authors, Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason, are young Ivy League graduates who’ve been friends since elementary school. This fact is totally unsurprising to me because the book feels like something two buddies got together to write.
Reminds me of that time during a snow storm in 9th grade when my best friend and I holed up in her bedroom and wrote a passionate story of going on a Caribbean cruise with our fantasy boyfriends and wearing clothes chosen from Teen magazine.
The Rule of Four, like our tale of teenage debauchery, is a fairy story. The only difference is that instead of daydreaming about wearing thigh highs and making out with boys, Caldwell and Thomason daydreamed about making a magnificent academic discovery.
Okay, there’s one more difference – their writing isn’t putrid teenage drivel.
After The Rule of Four, I immediately tore into the plastic wrapping of another book.
It’s not that I hated The Rule of Four. It had some interesting elements and a lovely turn of phrase here and there.
In it, two seniors at Princeton are on the verge of solving the mysteries contained in a massive and complicated 500-year-old book called the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili. But the closer they get, the more people want to beat them to the punch and steal the thunder for themselves. Murder and mayhem ensues.
My issue with The Rule of Four is that, like its main characters, the light comes on in its eyes only when it’s discussing the Hypnerotomachia. These are simultaneously the best parts and the worst – fascinating and energetic on one hand, dense and complicated on the other. Listening to the information about the Hypnerotomachia is sort of like trying to watch an intriguing History Channel documentary while fighting sleep.
Then there’s the rest of the book. The murder, arson and romance that the authors use to turn this into a novel rather than a fictional research paper feels secondary and, frankly, half-assed.
The murder mystery is clunky and predictable. Did I care who murdered Bill Stein? Not really. Did I care who murdered the next guy? Eh. Did I guess who did both? Of course.
So when the main characters finally figure it out, I rolled my eyes. These are guys that can solve complex riddles and codes no other scholars before them in 500 years could decipher, and yet they can’t determine who the murderer is? Come on.
The two authors, Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason, are young Ivy League graduates who’ve been friends since elementary school. This fact is totally unsurprising to me because the book feels like something two buddies got together to write.
Reminds me of that time during a snow storm in 9th grade when my best friend and I holed up in her bedroom and wrote a passionate story of going on a Caribbean cruise with our fantasy boyfriends and wearing clothes chosen from Teen magazine.
The Rule of Four, like our tale of teenage debauchery, is a fairy story. The only difference is that instead of daydreaming about wearing thigh highs and making out with boys, Caldwell and Thomason daydreamed about making a magnificent academic discovery.
Okay, there’s one more difference – their writing isn’t putrid teenage drivel.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Poor, Unfortunate Souls
Somehow it’s harder to write a review of a book I love. It’s difficult to explain why, exactly, The Last Days of Dogtown by Anita Diamant thrills me so. And difficult to say, “Everyone should read this book,” when I don’t believe everyone – or even most people – would love it as much as I do.
So I recommend this book for a certain person, someone who …
1.Loves the history of everyday life. Not the battles or the politics but the ways people cooked and slept and washed and loved. The professional critics say Diamant transplants characters with modern sensibilities into a faux-historic setting. Maybe that’s so, but at least it makes you feel you’re experiencing what it must’ve been to live in the early 1800s.
2.Enjoys a character-driven story. Dogtown is light on plot and tends to be episodic. But it travels into the minds of a whole cast of characters, each one of whom is interesting enough to warrant the journey. There’s even a brief chapter exquisitely told from the point of view of the dog Greyling, who lives on the outskirts of the dog pack and sleeps at the feet of Judy Rhines, the story’s chief heroine.
Dogtown is a story of the poor and unfortunate inhabitants of a fading settlement in the hills outside Gloucester, Mass. It is a miserable place in almost all respects, and like it, the book offers few bright spots. Yet somehow Diamant keeps it from being a miserable book. Her language is clean and straightforward – mostly devoid of sentiment. It is like the attitudes of her characters – hardy and not deluded about their own meager prospects. Each character is a jewel, even the drunk/pimp John Stanwood, who thinks he sees an angel in a tree and tries to reform.
Then there’s the narrator, Kate Nelligan. She is a wonder. A revelation. So good I want to rush out and listen to all the books she’s narrated and rent all her movies, even the ones on Lifetime.
Okay, I change my mind. I DO recommend this book to everyone. Especially the people who love the history of the everyday and character-driven novels, but also everyone who likes a good yarn. Everyone who lives in a small, gossipy town (or even a big one). Everyone who has been down and out. Everyone who has never been poor and trapped but wants to know what it’s like. Just everyone.
And maybe, as the delightful Kate Nelligan reads the last words of the book, you will shed a tear or two. Not because the words are sad but because Dogtown, the book and the town you love, have come to an end.
So I recommend this book for a certain person, someone who …
1.Loves the history of everyday life. Not the battles or the politics but the ways people cooked and slept and washed and loved. The professional critics say Diamant transplants characters with modern sensibilities into a faux-historic setting. Maybe that’s so, but at least it makes you feel you’re experiencing what it must’ve been to live in the early 1800s.
2.Enjoys a character-driven story. Dogtown is light on plot and tends to be episodic. But it travels into the minds of a whole cast of characters, each one of whom is interesting enough to warrant the journey. There’s even a brief chapter exquisitely told from the point of view of the dog Greyling, who lives on the outskirts of the dog pack and sleeps at the feet of Judy Rhines, the story’s chief heroine.
Dogtown is a story of the poor and unfortunate inhabitants of a fading settlement in the hills outside Gloucester, Mass. It is a miserable place in almost all respects, and like it, the book offers few bright spots. Yet somehow Diamant keeps it from being a miserable book. Her language is clean and straightforward – mostly devoid of sentiment. It is like the attitudes of her characters – hardy and not deluded about their own meager prospects. Each character is a jewel, even the drunk/pimp John Stanwood, who thinks he sees an angel in a tree and tries to reform.
Then there’s the narrator, Kate Nelligan. She is a wonder. A revelation. So good I want to rush out and listen to all the books she’s narrated and rent all her movies, even the ones on Lifetime.
Okay, I change my mind. I DO recommend this book to everyone. Especially the people who love the history of the everyday and character-driven novels, but also everyone who likes a good yarn. Everyone who lives in a small, gossipy town (or even a big one). Everyone who has been down and out. Everyone who has never been poor and trapped but wants to know what it’s like. Just everyone.
And maybe, as the delightful Kate Nelligan reads the last words of the book, you will shed a tear or two. Not because the words are sad but because Dogtown, the book and the town you love, have come to an end.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
I'm in Love and I've Never Even Met You
The natural first impulse when reviewing John Berendt’s second book The City of Falling Angels is to compare it with his first blockbuster bestseller Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. That’s the first thing people ask, too – is it as good as Midnight? Did Berendt fall victim to the sophomore jinx?
I read Midnight long after the initial buzz about both book and movie had faded. Hubby and I spent a night in Savannah, Ga., on our honeymoon (the rest we spent in Charleston, S.C.), so I read Midnight the week after we returned. As usual, I prefer the book to the movie.
The City of Falling Angels follows a similar pattern. Berendt lives for a while in a city, interviewing its inhabitants and documenting the unique patterns of life there, all the while slowly reeling out a true mystery.
The mystery in Midnight was a murder in Savannah. The mystery in Angels is the burning of the last centuries-old opera house in Venice.
I’ve been fascinated with Venice since reading Palladian Days: Finding a New Life in a Venetian Country House several months ago. Berendt portrays a similar view of Venice – deceitful and charming, vibrant and mysterious, ancient and beautiful. After reading Angels, I’m even more desperate to visit the city with no cars and more art and history than one tourist can digest.
Angels is a pleasant, easygoing book, in some ways more poignant and insightful than Midnight, particularly the parts about the master glassblower who documents the fire in art glass.
But I don’t always need a book that’s packed full of excitement. Berendt narrated the abridged version himself (and an interview with him is included at the end), and that made me feel I was there, sitting in on the conversations with him.
In Midnight Berendt described Savannah through the people he introduced. The same is true of Venice but to a lesser degree. In Angels, the interviews at times seemed more about telling a story – a sometimes uninteresting story – than telling about a person.
But maybe this is the fate of all abridged books – to be edited down to bare story, no frivolous extra things like character development.
And in the case of Angels, the main story and all the subplots are weak. Because I love reading about Venice, I enjoyed most of the book. But if it had been set in a city less fascinating in its own right, Angels might’ve been downright dull. Even the investigation and trial over the opera house’s possible arson lacked suspense.
I recommend reading it but not for the mystery. Read it for the city.
I read Midnight long after the initial buzz about both book and movie had faded. Hubby and I spent a night in Savannah, Ga., on our honeymoon (the rest we spent in Charleston, S.C.), so I read Midnight the week after we returned. As usual, I prefer the book to the movie.
The City of Falling Angels follows a similar pattern. Berendt lives for a while in a city, interviewing its inhabitants and documenting the unique patterns of life there, all the while slowly reeling out a true mystery.
The mystery in Midnight was a murder in Savannah. The mystery in Angels is the burning of the last centuries-old opera house in Venice.
I’ve been fascinated with Venice since reading Palladian Days: Finding a New Life in a Venetian Country House several months ago. Berendt portrays a similar view of Venice – deceitful and charming, vibrant and mysterious, ancient and beautiful. After reading Angels, I’m even more desperate to visit the city with no cars and more art and history than one tourist can digest.
Angels is a pleasant, easygoing book, in some ways more poignant and insightful than Midnight, particularly the parts about the master glassblower who documents the fire in art glass.
But I don’t always need a book that’s packed full of excitement. Berendt narrated the abridged version himself (and an interview with him is included at the end), and that made me feel I was there, sitting in on the conversations with him.
In Midnight Berendt described Savannah through the people he introduced. The same is true of Venice but to a lesser degree. In Angels, the interviews at times seemed more about telling a story – a sometimes uninteresting story – than telling about a person.
But maybe this is the fate of all abridged books – to be edited down to bare story, no frivolous extra things like character development.
And in the case of Angels, the main story and all the subplots are weak. Because I love reading about Venice, I enjoyed most of the book. But if it had been set in a city less fascinating in its own right, Angels might’ve been downright dull. Even the investigation and trial over the opera house’s possible arson lacked suspense.
I recommend reading it but not for the mystery. Read it for the city.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Oh, High School
Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld is the first book I’ve read both in hardcover and on unabridged audio CD. In the hardcover version, I sped through it in one long night, eager to find out what all these critics were talking about. Sittenfeld was getting compared to J.D. Salinger, her character to the beloved Holden Caulfield.
I didn’t see it – not exactly. I wrote an Amazon review at the time titled, “Fine writing but not the finest ever.” Sittenfeld’s tale of a lonely middle class teen at a preppy boarding school struck me as true at times, tedious at others. After this second reading, I still feel that way.
Like the main character, Lee Fiora, I was shy in high school. Hyper-aware of everyone around me. Observant and terrified of misstepping.
But even I grew impatient with Lee as I listened to her story on CD. I wanted to shake her and say, “Get over yourself!” (I’ve been reading all the Amazon reviews and noticed several other people had this impulse.) While I was at it, I’d shake the narrator and tell her to stop using that whiny voice!
During the first few CDs, the audiobook couldn’t hold my attention. I started thinking I’d made a mistake buying it. But somewhere along the way, it drew me in. I admit I’m a sucker for coming-of-age stories, especially ones that capture so beautifully that heart-tugging regret you can feel for unrequited loves, even now that you’re a happy adult. I always wonder, what if? Even when I don’t want a different end result. The adult Lee looking back seems to feel this way, too, and I identified with that more than anything in the book.
Sittenfeld portrays that emotion, and so many others, perfectly. Perfect is a strong word, but I think I’m safe here. Lee experiences a few moments in the book when she is amazed to realize someone “gets” her. That’s the way I felt reading about Lee – Sittenfeld gets teenage girls, gets me.
This is the reason I like Prep. It outweighs the things I don’t like – the slowness, the skipping back and forth in time within a scene, the anticlimactic ending – and leaves me with a good feeling about the book. It is the reason I’m keeping this book instead of sending it back into the eBay mill. I just might want to read it again one day.
I didn’t see it – not exactly. I wrote an Amazon review at the time titled, “Fine writing but not the finest ever.” Sittenfeld’s tale of a lonely middle class teen at a preppy boarding school struck me as true at times, tedious at others. After this second reading, I still feel that way.
Like the main character, Lee Fiora, I was shy in high school. Hyper-aware of everyone around me. Observant and terrified of misstepping.
But even I grew impatient with Lee as I listened to her story on CD. I wanted to shake her and say, “Get over yourself!” (I’ve been reading all the Amazon reviews and noticed several other people had this impulse.) While I was at it, I’d shake the narrator and tell her to stop using that whiny voice!
During the first few CDs, the audiobook couldn’t hold my attention. I started thinking I’d made a mistake buying it. But somewhere along the way, it drew me in. I admit I’m a sucker for coming-of-age stories, especially ones that capture so beautifully that heart-tugging regret you can feel for unrequited loves, even now that you’re a happy adult. I always wonder, what if? Even when I don’t want a different end result. The adult Lee looking back seems to feel this way, too, and I identified with that more than anything in the book.
Sittenfeld portrays that emotion, and so many others, perfectly. Perfect is a strong word, but I think I’m safe here. Lee experiences a few moments in the book when she is amazed to realize someone “gets” her. That’s the way I felt reading about Lee – Sittenfeld gets teenage girls, gets me.
This is the reason I like Prep. It outweighs the things I don’t like – the slowness, the skipping back and forth in time within a scene, the anticlimactic ending – and leaves me with a good feeling about the book. It is the reason I’m keeping this book instead of sending it back into the eBay mill. I just might want to read it again one day.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Shake Some Action
Since starting this blog, I've noticed something about myself. I expect different things from an audiobook than I do from a print book. If I'm lounging in a sunny spot (or staying up all night) reading a print book, I don't necessarily need action or surprises or intrigue. I enjoy a good character study, anything that reveals something about human nature, anything literary.
But for some reason, I can't get into those kinds of books as much in audio form. I've had Bret Easton Ellis's Lunar Park riding around in my car for a while now, but in spite of the significant buzz surrounding it, I haven't felt the motivation to begin it. I gravitate more toward the mysteries, adventures and chick lit - most of which I don't bother with in print. Most of which I inevitably dislike.
Maybe this difference between what I want in audio vs. print occurs because I get distracted more easily in audio. With a print book, I get so absorbed that I'm more in the book than I am in the real world. But it takes a really special audiobook to suck me out of the world of interstate driving ... though maybe that's a good thing for the other drivers around me. ;)
But for some reason, I can't get into those kinds of books as much in audio form. I've had Bret Easton Ellis's Lunar Park riding around in my car for a while now, but in spite of the significant buzz surrounding it, I haven't felt the motivation to begin it. I gravitate more toward the mysteries, adventures and chick lit - most of which I don't bother with in print. Most of which I inevitably dislike.
Maybe this difference between what I want in audio vs. print occurs because I get distracted more easily in audio. With a print book, I get so absorbed that I'm more in the book than I am in the real world. But it takes a really special audiobook to suck me out of the world of interstate driving ... though maybe that's a good thing for the other drivers around me. ;)
Monday, October 24, 2005
Ambling Along, La-Dee-Da
Apparently, Anita Shreve (or her editor) likes generic titles. Last year, I read her Light on Snow. Now A Wedding in December. Let’s see – The Last Time They Met, All He Ever Wanted, Where or When, Resistance. The only one with a title I can get interested in is The Weight of Water (which was made into a Sean Penn movie).
You can’t always judge a book by its title. I found Light on Snow - told from a 12-year-old’s point of view - charming and touching.
But in the case of A Wedding in December, the title fits - both as a plain-jane description of the plot and a sign that nothing terribly exciting is on its way.
The novel brings together seven high school friends, who went their separate ways after an eighth friend’s tragic death. They meet at Nora’s inn in Massachusetts for the wedding of Bill and Bridget, who were high school sweethearts but broke up in college and married others. They are only now, 22 years later, reuniting.
The story rotates point of view among three characters – Bridget, the bride, who may be dying of breast cancer; Agnes, a schoolteacher who harbors a secret sadness and is writing a fictional account of a large-scale tragedy; and Harrison, who has fought with guilt and regret since high school.
The story is about regret and the role our choices play in it. Each of the three main characters changes direction over the course of the weekend, but nothing that happens surprises. Nothing that is revealed surprises.
This is not to say the book is bad. The characters are appealing, the writing clean, the emotions true. And I loved the forays into Agnes’ historical fiction short story, though I often wondered why Shreve didn't just devote a whole novel to it instead of interrupting this one at intervals.
I expect a certain amount of roller coaster in a book – highs and lows and in-between. A Wedding in December travels at an ambling pace, a stroll. It has highs and lows, but they’re so subtle that they’re more like shallows and gentle rises in the road than any roller coaster.
You can’t always judge a book by its title. I found Light on Snow - told from a 12-year-old’s point of view - charming and touching.
But in the case of A Wedding in December, the title fits - both as a plain-jane description of the plot and a sign that nothing terribly exciting is on its way.
The novel brings together seven high school friends, who went their separate ways after an eighth friend’s tragic death. They meet at Nora’s inn in Massachusetts for the wedding of Bill and Bridget, who were high school sweethearts but broke up in college and married others. They are only now, 22 years later, reuniting.
The story rotates point of view among three characters – Bridget, the bride, who may be dying of breast cancer; Agnes, a schoolteacher who harbors a secret sadness and is writing a fictional account of a large-scale tragedy; and Harrison, who has fought with guilt and regret since high school.
The story is about regret and the role our choices play in it. Each of the three main characters changes direction over the course of the weekend, but nothing that happens surprises. Nothing that is revealed surprises.
This is not to say the book is bad. The characters are appealing, the writing clean, the emotions true. And I loved the forays into Agnes’ historical fiction short story, though I often wondered why Shreve didn't just devote a whole novel to it instead of interrupting this one at intervals.
I expect a certain amount of roller coaster in a book – highs and lows and in-between. A Wedding in December travels at an ambling pace, a stroll. It has highs and lows, but they’re so subtle that they’re more like shallows and gentle rises in the road than any roller coaster.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Protracted Listening Experience
It's taking me 100 years to listen to A Wedding in December. First the vacation interrupted. Then this week, my hubby was sick, so I took two days of spare vacation and stayed home to pamper him (aka, lay around on the couch with him and intermittently fetch Gatorade and/or Tylenol).
No work naturally means no commute, which means no audiobooks. If this were a suspenseful novel, I might be losing my mind right about now. Fortunately - or is it unfortunately? - A Wedding in December is more of a slow and serious drama.
But I'm finally on the last CD, so expect a review early next week, probably Monday!
When this book is finished, I'll get back to The Rule of Four or maybe my new unabridged copy of Prep.
No work naturally means no commute, which means no audiobooks. If this were a suspenseful novel, I might be losing my mind right about now. Fortunately - or is it unfortunately? - A Wedding in December is more of a slow and serious drama.
But I'm finally on the last CD, so expect a review early next week, probably Monday!
When this book is finished, I'll get back to The Rule of Four or maybe my new unabridged copy of Prep.
Monday, October 17, 2005
A Preservationist’s Fantasy
My favorite kind of book/audiobook is one that leaves me feeling an echo of emotion, like in the few moments before you fully wake from a dream.
A book doesn’t have to be perfect to make me feel that way. Robert Hicks’ The Widow of the South has its flaws, but at the end of 5 CDs, I wasn’t ready for it to end. The readers – Becky Ann Baker, Tom Wopat (yes, from the Dukes of Hazzard TV series), David Chandler and Jonathan Davis – bring the story and characters to life. The voices are warm and hypnotic, and the accents are right.
And for once the abridgement doesn’t leave gaping holes in the story. Hurray for good abridgements! Abridginator Andrew Loschert is my new hero.
Author Robert Hicks, as he says in the author commentary on CD 5, is a member of the preservation board for the McGavock house in Franklin, Tenn. He based the novel on the true story of Carrie McGavock, a Southern plantation owner’s wife whose house becomes a makeshift hospital and garden becomes a graveyard after the Battle of Franklin, “five of the bloodiest hours of the Civil War.”
Like Cold Mountain (the movie … I still need to read the book), the story focuses on two people who fall in a sort of love based more on an idea of each other than on any real intimacy.
The story starts off strong with a moving battle narrative from soldier Zachariah Cashwell’s point of view. The hospital scenes, too, are heartbreaking and vivid. This is the kind of stuff that comes back to you when you close your eyes to go to sleep at night.
Carrie McGavock’s point of view is fraught with emotion as well. She is a mother who has lost several children to disease and can’t pull herself out of depression. She sees something in Zachariah – a desire to live? – that pulls her toward him and lets her feel again.
If this all sounds awfully sentimental, you’re right. But the innate sadness and beauty of this tale lift it out of potential sappiness. The romance is not really the true heart of this story. It’s Carrie’s growth into a living, breathing woman again – in spite of the fact that she has to use death to get there.
A book doesn’t have to be perfect to make me feel that way. Robert Hicks’ The Widow of the South has its flaws, but at the end of 5 CDs, I wasn’t ready for it to end. The readers – Becky Ann Baker, Tom Wopat (yes, from the Dukes of Hazzard TV series), David Chandler and Jonathan Davis – bring the story and characters to life. The voices are warm and hypnotic, and the accents are right.
And for once the abridgement doesn’t leave gaping holes in the story. Hurray for good abridgements! Abridginator Andrew Loschert is my new hero.
Author Robert Hicks, as he says in the author commentary on CD 5, is a member of the preservation board for the McGavock house in Franklin, Tenn. He based the novel on the true story of Carrie McGavock, a Southern plantation owner’s wife whose house becomes a makeshift hospital and garden becomes a graveyard after the Battle of Franklin, “five of the bloodiest hours of the Civil War.”
Like Cold Mountain (the movie … I still need to read the book), the story focuses on two people who fall in a sort of love based more on an idea of each other than on any real intimacy.
The story starts off strong with a moving battle narrative from soldier Zachariah Cashwell’s point of view. The hospital scenes, too, are heartbreaking and vivid. This is the kind of stuff that comes back to you when you close your eyes to go to sleep at night.
Carrie McGavock’s point of view is fraught with emotion as well. She is a mother who has lost several children to disease and can’t pull herself out of depression. She sees something in Zachariah – a desire to live? – that pulls her toward him and lets her feel again.
If this all sounds awfully sentimental, you’re right. But the innate sadness and beauty of this tale lift it out of potential sappiness. The romance is not really the true heart of this story. It’s Carrie’s growth into a living, breathing woman again – in spite of the fact that she has to use death to get there.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Goldberg’s Remedies for a Blah Protag
Myla Goldberg’s novel Wickett’s Remedy hooked me with the packaging. As an owner of a turn-of-the-century house and a collector of vintage paper items, I was thrilled by the image of the old-fashioned “medicine” bottle label. (The heft of the 9-CD unabridged version didn’t hurt either.)
See? Pretty. Cover Designer People (T. Oliver Peabody & Jean Traina), I want to shake your hands.
The audiobook almost lives up to its cover’s promise. Wickett’s Remedy is an unusual combination of elements. A straightforward – if unexciting – tale of a Boston shopgirl’s experiences during the 1918 Spanish influenza epidemic coincides with the evolution of her husband’s faux-medical remedy. Like Fannie Flagg, Goldberg augments her story with period news reports, public service announcements, newsletters, brochures and letters.
Oh yes, and one truly unique element – the voices of the dead speaking in the margins.
At first, I found the hollow-sounding marginal voices distracting and a little annoying. But as the story went on, I grew to love them. I smiled each time one interrupted with a correction. Their purpose at first seemed only to be to poke fun at the fallacy of memory, but as the influenza epidemic’s death toll rose, they became a poignant medium for expressing the great loss.
Another feature that could’ve been annoying but escaped with a gold star instead – Goldberg’s apparent use of every multi-syllabic word in Roget’s 20th Century Thesaurus. I’ve been a lover of language since childhood when I corrected my mother’s grammar instead of vice versa (to her everlasting annoyance), but I usually despise overuse of big words in novels. The trouble with most big-word usage is that it’s out of place in the story.
In Wickett’s Remedy, the somewhat antiquated words fit with the setting. But more than that, they are used correctly. Goldberg knows not only the definition of the words she’s using but also all the little nuances. She doesn’t throw them about willy-nilly, and she doesn’t try to shove them in awkward places. These big words fit, and that’s enough to give a word nerd a tiny shiver of pleasure.
Add up the old-big-word fun, the marginal voices and the fascinating backdrop, and it’s easy to forget that the main character’s story isn’t particularly interesting. Who needs excitement when you can broaden your vocabulary?
See? Pretty. Cover Designer People (T. Oliver Peabody & Jean Traina), I want to shake your hands.
The audiobook almost lives up to its cover’s promise. Wickett’s Remedy is an unusual combination of elements. A straightforward – if unexciting – tale of a Boston shopgirl’s experiences during the 1918 Spanish influenza epidemic coincides with the evolution of her husband’s faux-medical remedy. Like Fannie Flagg, Goldberg augments her story with period news reports, public service announcements, newsletters, brochures and letters.
Oh yes, and one truly unique element – the voices of the dead speaking in the margins.
At first, I found the hollow-sounding marginal voices distracting and a little annoying. But as the story went on, I grew to love them. I smiled each time one interrupted with a correction. Their purpose at first seemed only to be to poke fun at the fallacy of memory, but as the influenza epidemic’s death toll rose, they became a poignant medium for expressing the great loss.
Another feature that could’ve been annoying but escaped with a gold star instead – Goldberg’s apparent use of every multi-syllabic word in Roget’s 20th Century Thesaurus. I’ve been a lover of language since childhood when I corrected my mother’s grammar instead of vice versa (to her everlasting annoyance), but I usually despise overuse of big words in novels. The trouble with most big-word usage is that it’s out of place in the story.
In Wickett’s Remedy, the somewhat antiquated words fit with the setting. But more than that, they are used correctly. Goldberg knows not only the definition of the words she’s using but also all the little nuances. She doesn’t throw them about willy-nilly, and she doesn’t try to shove them in awkward places. These big words fit, and that’s enough to give a word nerd a tiny shiver of pleasure.
Add up the old-big-word fun, the marginal voices and the fascinating backdrop, and it’s easy to forget that the main character’s story isn’t particularly interesting. Who needs excitement when you can broaden your vocabulary?
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
The Un vs. the Ab
A quick glance at eBay Pulse tells me most audiobook reader/listeners prefer unabridged books. And who wouldn’t? With abridgements, I’m often left wondering what I missed. It’s like watching Dirty Dancing edited for television – you’ve seen it so many times that you know something is missing but you’re not sure what.
Then again, if the book isn’t that great to begin with, I appreciate an abridgement because that means the dullness is over sooner. I can get to the resolution of the story with little fuss or muss and move on to the next book.
Either way, I like to vary my audiobook fare. After I read a nice, long unabridged book, I’ll shake things up with a lightweight abridgement or two.
I think it would be fun to be an abridger (Is that what they’re called? Or maybe abridginator? Abridgidaire?). As an editor, I take great joy in trimming the fat from stories. It’s like a puzzle, and you figure out how to make things fit together in the best, sleekest way.
Okay, I’m getting all squiggly-feeling just thinking about it. How does one break into the abridging game?
Then again, if the book isn’t that great to begin with, I appreciate an abridgement because that means the dullness is over sooner. I can get to the resolution of the story with little fuss or muss and move on to the next book.
Either way, I like to vary my audiobook fare. After I read a nice, long unabridged book, I’ll shake things up with a lightweight abridgement or two.
I think it would be fun to be an abridger (Is that what they’re called? Or maybe abridginator? Abridgidaire?). As an editor, I take great joy in trimming the fat from stories. It’s like a puzzle, and you figure out how to make things fit together in the best, sleekest way.
Okay, I’m getting all squiggly-feeling just thinking about it. How does one break into the abridging game?
Why I Need Headphones
My trip wasn't as bad as I anticipated, but I still missed the audiobooks. I couldn't listen to so much as the radio because every time I'd turn it on, my charming mother-in-law would start trying to talk over it. *sigh* She even tried to talk to me while I was reading Object Lessons on the ride up. You can tell a person never reads when they interrupt you with questions about your book or life in general or the cure for cancer. A frequent reader-for-pleasure knows that a good book sucks you into its world, and you don't want someone screeching from the back seat sucking you back out.
Anyway, I'm home. I managed to enjoy Object Lessons. Not as much as Black and Blue, but the teeth-gritting situation might have affected my feelings about the book. The third-person omniscient point of view is something I haven't seen a lot in literary fiction. In a way, it was refreshing and different. In another way, I couldn't get as deeply inside the heads of the characters - particularly the main character, 13-year-old Maggie, whose distinct voice was diluted by all the action inside the other characters' minds.
Anyway, I'm home. I managed to enjoy Object Lessons. Not as much as Black and Blue, but the teeth-gritting situation might have affected my feelings about the book. The third-person omniscient point of view is something I haven't seen a lot in literary fiction. In a way, it was refreshing and different. In another way, I couldn't get as deeply inside the heads of the characters - particularly the main character, 13-year-old Maggie, whose distinct voice was diluted by all the action inside the other characters' minds.
Friday, October 07, 2005
A Road Trip Without Audiobooks
Ingredients for an unpleasant vacation:
Road trip with in-laws
No audiobooks
I'm going on vacation with the in-laws for four days, with a four-hour drive there and back. That's eight hours of abject misery and 88 of only moderate misery. Actually, I'll be sleeping for 24 of those hours, and I hope they will be at least neutral.
If you can't tell, I'm not particularly looking forward to this trip. One of the reasons is that we'll be driving, but I won't be able to listen to my audiobooks because of our passengers. I'm right in the middle of A Wedding in December, and it always annoys me to interrupt a book for a few days because I can't remember what's going on when I get back to it.
I went to the library on my lunch break today and checked out two print books - Blessings and Object Lessons, both by Anna Quindlen. I read Black and Blue recently and became an instant fan. I'm hoping her literary superhero powers will keep me from exploding all over the vehicle on this sans-audiobook, not sans-in-law vacation.
I'm beginning to see the benefits of an iPod.
I'm going on vacation with the in-laws for four days, with a four-hour drive there and back. That's eight hours of abject misery and 88 of only moderate misery. Actually, I'll be sleeping for 24 of those hours, and I hope they will be at least neutral.
If you can't tell, I'm not particularly looking forward to this trip. One of the reasons is that we'll be driving, but I won't be able to listen to my audiobooks because of our passengers. I'm right in the middle of A Wedding in December, and it always annoys me to interrupt a book for a few days because I can't remember what's going on when I get back to it.
I went to the library on my lunch break today and checked out two print books - Blessings and Object Lessons, both by Anna Quindlen. I read Black and Blue recently and became an instant fan. I'm hoping her literary superhero powers will keep me from exploding all over the vehicle on this sans-audiobook, not sans-in-law vacation.
I'm beginning to see the benefits of an iPod.
Southern Gothic
I've been hearing a lot of buzz about the new Karin Slaughter novel, Faithless, in the book blogging world. This was my first time to read/listen to Slaughter's work, and I found the abridged audiobook version entertaining enough to keep me awake on the commute but not remarkable.
Faithless stars Slaughter's recurring characters medical examiner Sara Linton, her ex-husband/current boyfriend police Chief Jeffrey Tolliver, and Detective Lena Adams, who’s struggling with her own inner demons. They stumble upon a murder victim who was buried alive in a wooden box in the forest near their small Georgia town.
The victim, they soon discover, was a member of a strict religious family that owns a cooperative farm. Their investigation leads them to several suspects around town, particularly at the farm, which hires down-on-their-luck folks, many with criminal backgrounds.
Because these are recurring characters, Slaughter seems to be investing in a long-term character arc. Which, for this single book, means that nothing much happens to the characters personally. Sure, they run around interviewing people and poking at dead bodies, but I didn't feel I got to know them.
in Faithless, Slaughter avoids the kind of twist ending I hate, the kind that’s so twisty it comes out of left field. But she also creates little suspense. When the killer – or is it killers? – was revealed, I had no “a-ha” moment. I had an “oh – right” moment. No emotion, no excitement.
I just didn’t care what happened at the end, and none of the characters intrigued me much. It’s fair to say I cared less about the outcome of this story than about the average episode of Law & Order: SVU.
Faithless stars Slaughter's recurring characters medical examiner Sara Linton, her ex-husband/current boyfriend police Chief Jeffrey Tolliver, and Detective Lena Adams, who’s struggling with her own inner demons. They stumble upon a murder victim who was buried alive in a wooden box in the forest near their small Georgia town.
The victim, they soon discover, was a member of a strict religious family that owns a cooperative farm. Their investigation leads them to several suspects around town, particularly at the farm, which hires down-on-their-luck folks, many with criminal backgrounds.
Because these are recurring characters, Slaughter seems to be investing in a long-term character arc. Which, for this single book, means that nothing much happens to the characters personally. Sure, they run around interviewing people and poking at dead bodies, but I didn't feel I got to know them.
in Faithless, Slaughter avoids the kind of twist ending I hate, the kind that’s so twisty it comes out of left field. But she also creates little suspense. When the killer – or is it killers? – was revealed, I had no “a-ha” moment. I had an “oh – right” moment. No emotion, no excitement.
I just didn’t care what happened at the end, and none of the characters intrigued me much. It’s fair to say I cared less about the outcome of this story than about the average episode of Law & Order: SVU.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
More Like Straight Into a Black Hole
As a quick look at the History Channel on any given night will attest, the American people are obsessed with World War II. In many ways, I can see why. So many compelling stories of human tragedy, and nearly everybody has a relative that fought in it (for me, there are two grandfathers and a great-uncle).
But I’ve nearly reached my limit on World War II television shows, movies and now audiobooks.
Straight Into Darkness by Faye Kellerman is a serial killer murder mystery set in pre-Nazi Germany, during Hitler’s rise to power. If there’s any storyline more ubiquitous than World War II, it’s serial killers.
But I must give Kellerman credit for trying one thing a little different than what I've seen in many murder mystery/detective novels. She is honest about human beings. Her characters aren't heroes or saints ... or even likeable.
Her protagonist, homicide detective Axel Berg, accepts bribes, frequents whores and generally looks out for himself. In a way, I appreciated this. In another way, where's my motivation for caring about a dispassionate, charmless main character?
I made it through the audiobook – I often shut them off if I get bored – but just barely. Add on top of the unlovable characters grisly, CSI-worthy descriptions of dead bodies and eyes dangling from sockets – let me pause to shudder – and violent, horrible scenes of sexual assault.
Now, I’m no prude and I love me some Law & Order: SVU. But nonstop horrible stuff – especially when it seems to be in the book strictly for the shock factor – is not my cup of tea.
As for the narrator, I think Paul Michael did his best. Every single character had to have a German accent and also had to sound distinct from the many others. That must’ve been a challenge, and I think he pulled it off well for the most part. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was speaking in a scene, but that may also have been due to the writing or to the abridgement.
Perhaps I would like Faye Kellerman’s books better in print, where at least I would have more time to learn about the characters and where I wouldn’t have to listen to the repulsive parts out loud. There’s a reason these acts are called unspeakable.
But I’ve nearly reached my limit on World War II television shows, movies and now audiobooks.
Straight Into Darkness by Faye Kellerman is a serial killer murder mystery set in pre-Nazi Germany, during Hitler’s rise to power. If there’s any storyline more ubiquitous than World War II, it’s serial killers.
But I must give Kellerman credit for trying one thing a little different than what I've seen in many murder mystery/detective novels. She is honest about human beings. Her characters aren't heroes or saints ... or even likeable.
Her protagonist, homicide detective Axel Berg, accepts bribes, frequents whores and generally looks out for himself. In a way, I appreciated this. In another way, where's my motivation for caring about a dispassionate, charmless main character?
I made it through the audiobook – I often shut them off if I get bored – but just barely. Add on top of the unlovable characters grisly, CSI-worthy descriptions of dead bodies and eyes dangling from sockets – let me pause to shudder – and violent, horrible scenes of sexual assault.
Now, I’m no prude and I love me some Law & Order: SVU. But nonstop horrible stuff – especially when it seems to be in the book strictly for the shock factor – is not my cup of tea.
As for the narrator, I think Paul Michael did his best. Every single character had to have a German accent and also had to sound distinct from the many others. That must’ve been a challenge, and I think he pulled it off well for the most part. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was speaking in a scene, but that may also have been due to the writing or to the abridgement.
Perhaps I would like Faye Kellerman’s books better in print, where at least I would have more time to learn about the characters and where I wouldn’t have to listen to the repulsive parts out loud. There’s a reason these acts are called unspeakable.
The Obessession Begins
Since I was a young'un, I've been a big reader. But work and life and all that stuff got in the way, and I could never find enough time to read more than a couple of books a year.
Then, one year ago, I traded in my 8-minute commute for a much longer one. Since I work for a magazine that has an audiobook review section, I started listening to the review copies. Soon, I was addicted to this method of passing the time on the long drive and squeezing in some much-missed reading.
When I tried to search out audiobooks on Amazon, I noticed that most of the reviewers are referring to the print versions of the books. When I wrote reviews on the audiobook versions, the reception was cold.
Okay. So I'll write my own blog where people who are specifically interested in audiobooks can find me.
A bonus of this is that it will help me keep track of the books I've read and my thoughts on them.
Bring on the books ... audio that is.
Then, one year ago, I traded in my 8-minute commute for a much longer one. Since I work for a magazine that has an audiobook review section, I started listening to the review copies. Soon, I was addicted to this method of passing the time on the long drive and squeezing in some much-missed reading.
When I tried to search out audiobooks on Amazon, I noticed that most of the reviewers are referring to the print versions of the books. When I wrote reviews on the audiobook versions, the reception was cold.
Okay. So I'll write my own blog where people who are specifically interested in audiobooks can find me.
A bonus of this is that it will help me keep track of the books I've read and my thoughts on them.
Bring on the books ... audio that is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
