Sex, Lies and Leonardo DaVinci

If you've noticed, I like historical fiction. I anticipated a good read in Leonardo's Swans by Karen Essex, a book about two competitive, noble sisters living during the Italian Renaissance. OK, the presence of Leonardo daVinci in the book did give me pause.

I should've paused a little longer, then returned the audiobook to the shelf. The scheming sisters' political maneuverings - blech. The comical sex scenes - double blech. The historical aspects seemed incidental to the taudry romances, and in spite of the massive amounts of intrigue, I was bored.

And daVinci? Does every book have to feature daVinci these days? Damn you, DaVinci Code.

I can see how this book would appeal to a certain type of reader - probably a big fan of romance novels. Maybe I would've even enjoyed it if I had gone into it anticipating that deliciously sinful sort of book. Instead, I was disappointed.

A Story Quiet and Loud

Never Let Me Go has received plenty of acclaim this year. Kazuo Ishiguro’s book landed on the top books of 2005 lists of the NY Times Book Review, Salon.com, and probably several more esteemed publications I’m too lazy to look up.

The acclaim is deserved. Never Let Me Go is quiet, lovely, haunting and strange. And the audio version – silkily narrated by Rosalyn Landor – is perhaps the ideal way to enjoy it. Ms. Landor transmits the melancholy and the muted beauty in the words.

This is a book that made me feel things. It tweaked my social conscience. It made me cry a little. It made me marvel at the way Ishiguro could capture so perfectly what it means to be a human.

I won’t tell you anymore about it. I’ll just say read it. It isn’t exciting or action-packed by any means. The main character Kathy H. tells her tale slowly and fastidiously, evaluating the fallibility of her own memory as she goes. But sometimes – even in audiobook form – action is secondary. You can get lost in a book like this one.

Bare Bones

Ah, the drastic abridgment rears its ugly head. At least, I hope that was the problem with Memoirs of a Geisha. I expected such good things from this book, mostly based on name recognition and the movie previews. Sadly, I was unimpressed. At a meager three CDs, I wonder just how much this abridged version cut out. This version was little more than a list of events, not much detail and not much in between to let us get to know the characters or care enough about their fate.

I definitely recommend listening to the unabridged version of this audiobook. I plan to check out the print book from the library, because the bones of this story are so good, I know the flesh of it must be even better.

Listening to this abridged version reminded me of watching a movie, only I think the movie will be better. I hope so – I’m planning to see it tonight.

The one thing I loved about this audiobook was the narrator. I’m not sure who she is, but her Japanese accent and pronunciation of the Japanese words really set the tone of the novel. I’ve had all these geisha terms floating in my head ever since I finished the book.

Stepping Stone

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.

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.