Book 26 – Lives of Girls and Women

Alice Munro

The past few years have seen the emergence of interesting contemporary Canadian fiction and I’ve definitely enjoyed the fruits of writers like Miriam Towes, Ian Hamilton, Alan Bradley and Gil Adamson. Though I’ve never liked Margaret Atwood much, the only CanLit icon I’ve ever bothered to explore was Timothy Findley. Alice Munro is a definite gap in my CanLit reading. When I found a cheap copy of Lives of Girls and Women at a used bookstore in Nova Scotia (dontcha just love the cheezy 70’s cover?), I admit I was kind of expecting a coming-of-age version of The Diviners, or maybe a CanLit version of Judy Blume, since this controversial coming-of-age classic was banned from a number of schools in the 1970s due to its frank portrayal of sexuality.

What I got was a slow-paced anecdotal novel in the form of a “short story cycle”, or a series of episodes, chronicling the life of a young girl growing up in Ontario. All the CanLit tropes are there: a coming-of-age story featuring the minutiae of daily life in a rural setting interspersed with thoughtful introspection… Unfortunately the sex stuff doesn’t occur until at least three-quarters into the book. The very 70’s paperback edition makes much of the sex as the blurb states this is an “intensely readable story of Del Jordan grappling with life’s problems as she moves from the carelessness of childhood through uneasy adolescence in search of love and sexual experience.”

So I waded through mucho exposition about Del and the Jordan family living in rural Ontario, like how Uncle Benny tells Del and her brother about his experience driving around Toronto looking for the young wife who ran away from him:

He remembered everything. A map of the journey was burnt into his mind. And as he talked a different landscape—cars, billboards, industrial buildings, roads and locked gates and high wire fences, railway tracks, steep cindery embankments, tin sheds, ditches with a little brown water in them, also tin cans, mashed cardboard cartons, all kinds of clogged or barely floating waste—all this seemed to grow up around us created by his monotonous, meticulously remembering voice, and we could see it, we could see how it was to be lost there, how it was just not possible to find anything, or go on looking.

To be perfectly honest, that “monotonous, meticulously remembering voice” also aptly describes Munro’s writing. There are certainly moments of brilliance--she is, after all, Alice Munro--but you also get lost in the landscape of that droning voice. It’s not unlike the experience of politely listening to your eloquent yet doddering aunt who goes on a little too long with her stories, occasionally dropping a juicy tidbit of family gossip.

Don’t get me wrong -- I'm didn't pick up LoGaW just for the sex stuff (mostly).   But I wasn’t expecting this book to be, so… well…. (Munro fans can take heart that I feel slightly like a Philistine when I say this)… but I found this book to be really rather boring!

Apparently I’m not the only literate person who feels this. But when you have the Quill and Quire pounce on a Calgary Herald reviewer who slammed Munro’s Selected Stories, you have to be a little careful in what you say.  Still, I can’t help but agree with the reviewer’s opinion:

It may be one of the seven deadly sins of CanLit to utter a critical word about Munro, but the sin of a scanty plot is an even bigger one. This collection can’t rightfully be called stories. They’re unsatisfying sketches of characters who wander through depressive environments, observing the idiosyncrasies of those around them. Yet, those idiosyncrasies are there simply for the sake of being there; they do not lead to climaxes or denouements.

And just note how the Q&Q smugly puts down the reviewer as not being well-read!

Now, although we’re certainly Munro fans here at Quillblog, we’re also in favour of critical reviewing and disinclined to kneel before sacred cows… However, it does seem painfully apparent that Lakritz simply hasn’t read much literary fiction before. Which is the real issue here: surely some sensitivity and expertise should be a prerequisite for a book reviewer?

How the hell do they know what or how much Lakritz has read?  The real question is if there are any literate, well-read people who actually (or even secretly) find Munro boring? A quick google search for “Is Alice Munro boring?” yielded some interesting results.

Take this earthgoat blog for example:

Why are her stories so much longer than most people's? Are her plots more involved, does she bite off larger chunks of time and jump around in them more, does she include more character details or scene description than most writers, are her stories really micronovels? Maybe. Certainly it's working for her. She must be one of the top five most respected living short story writers. I won't spend time here praising her style, use of language, etc. -- her mastery of the form is well known.

Or cracking spines, who provides a fitting analogy:

I imagine that if Alice Munro were a painter, she would paint landscapes. Her finished canvases would look clear and precise as photographs - that is, they would look real... Like her stories, her paintings would be perfect in terms of craft, and as truthful as possible, and probably just a little boring… Still, I can never seem to pull myself away from a Munro story once I’ve started…

My minutes of research resulted in the fact that there does exist intelligent, well-read people who readily admit that Munro can indeed be boring, but nevertheless still enjoy her writing. So where does that leave me? I appreciate that Munro is a gifted writer, and amidst some of the dreary and/or droning descriptive passages, there are as many brilliantly written ones that really hit the nail on the head, like this passage that says so much about female self-esteem and a friendship grown apart:

Well-groomed girls frightened me to death. I didn’t like to even go near them, for fear I would be smelly. I felt there was a radical difference, between them and me, as if we were made of different substances. Their cool hands did not mottle or sweat, their hair kept its calculated shape, their underarms were never wet—they did not know what it was to have to keep their elbows pinned to their sides to hide the dark, disgraceful half-moon stains on their dresses—and never, never would they feel that little extra gush of blood, little bonus that no Kotex is going to hold, that will trickle horrifyingly down the inside of the thighs...  But what about Naomi? She had been like me; once she had an epidemic of warts on her fingers; she had suffered from athlete’s foot; we had hidden in the girls’ toilet together when we had the curse at the same time and were afraid to do tumbling… What was this masquerade she was going in for now, with her nail polish, her pastel sweater?

And some of the sex stuff is brilliantly written too, such as Del’s horrifying yet fascinating encounter with Mr Chamberlain in the woods. 

His breathing became loud and shaky, now he worked furiously with his hand, moaned, almost doubled over in spasmodic agony. The face he thrust out at me, from his crouch, was blind and wobbling like a mask on a stick, and those sounds coming out of his mouth, involuntary, last-ditch human noises, were at the same time theatrical, unlikely. In fact the whole performance, surrounded by calm flowering branches, seemed imposed, fantastically and predictably exaggerated, like an Indian dance. I had read about the body being in extremities of pleasure, possessed, but these expressions did not seem equal to the terrible benighted effort, deliberate frenzy, of what was going on here. If he did not soon get to where he wanted to be, I thought he would die.

I don't think I have ever read such vivid words about the simple act of jacking off in my life!

But then there are also moments that come across as ploddingly somber, like the time Del’s mother tells her daughter: “There is a change coming I think in the lives of girls and women. Yes. But it is up to us to make it come. All women have had up till now has been their connections with men. All we have had. No more lives of our own, really, than domestic animals.”

I also like to read people's opinions on Goodreads and one reviewer notes:

“A lot of people find Alice Munro boring, even dated, but I like the fact that her stories are real - about real people and places, and never over the top.”

And here is an interesting blog post that looks at why Munro is revered in Canada, but not as well-known outside:

None of that is earth-shaking stuff — Munro does not do earth-shaking. Everything in it, however, is something that every one of us experiences as we go through life. And great writer that she is, Munro has a way of exploring that in such meticulous detail that a reader — even an aging male like myself — can’t help but be touched.

Perhaps literate Canadian readers prefer their fiction to have a realness and seriousness to it.  But they should also respect the fact that there may be other well-read people who may prefer to have their fiction with a little more punch or action.  Why anyway is "serious literary fiction" considered so much more "worthy" than any other fiction?  It's the same mindset where readers found The Outlander too unbelievable for it be "real".  Much as Munro is respected and/or revered, it really boils down to a matter of taste, does it not?  If you’re a literary snob who’s afraid to admit that Munro is boring, then you might as well stick to your RealLit then.  You're probably the type of reader who now and then deigns to read speculative fiction (by Margaret Atwood), but never sci-fi.  But as someone who enjoys brilliant writing with equally brilliant pacing and structure (occasionally punctuated by the odd earth-shattering moment), Alice Munro is probably not for me.  And I'm not afraid to say that I find her a little too boring ;-)

Book 25 – The Tourist

Olen Steinhauer

In mid-July, I found myself sans un livre a couple of days before my vacation and wanted something non-committal that I could easily resume upon my return home. The Tourist seemed like a good choice. Coincidentally, both Mount Benson and Kate had also read this book around the same time.

I had never heard of The Tourist before spotting a review copy on the freebie shelf at my work. At first I thought it was related to that silly Johnny Depp/Angelina Jolie vehicle that came out recently.  Though it also features undercover agents in Europe, Steinhauer’s novel is a totally different animal. In Steinhauer’s novel, a Tourist is code for a CIA black-op agent with highly specialized skills. Somewhere in the CIA building on the Avenue of the Americas are secret floors stocked with Travel Agents who gather information from Tourists scattered “in all the populated continents”.

Like Kate and Mt Benson, I wasn’t expecting to be blown away or anything, but I did enjoy The Tourist. It had an interesting enough storyline, a decent amount of action and believable human drama, though the premise itself is far from original. If you’ve seen enough spy movies such as the likes of Mission Impossible or the Bourne series, you’ll recognize the tropes:

All Tourists know the importance of awareness. When you enter a room or a park, you chart the escapes immediately. You take in the potential weapons around you—a chair, ballpoint pen, letter opener, or even the loose, low-hanging branch on the tree behind Milo’s bench. At the same time, you consider the faces. Are they aware of you? Or are they feigning a forced ignorance that is the hallmark of other Tourists?

And you won’t be all that surprised who the “bad guy” turns out to be, like I wasn’t. But unlike a typical Hollywood action movie, there was a level of realism that I quite appreciated in Steinhauer's book.

There is definitely a bit of self-deprecating humour in the name given to Milo Weaver, the protagonist who is the Tourist in question. He could have been Mark Whacker or something like that – a tough, ass-kicking kind of guy whom you can escape - but not really identity - with. Whether he’s burned out by amphetamines, listening to France Gall on his ipod at the airport or longing to be with his family (again), there is a world-weary frailty to Milo Weaver that helps make The Tourist likable and fairly memorable.

The NYT review writes: Milo would be the kind of principled hero we long to believe still exists in fiction, if not in life. The only drawback to this warm close-up of the protagonist is that it skews the novel, rendering it more of a character study than a full-bodied espionage novel.

It’s not surprising (as Mt Benson already mentioned) that George Clooney has already optioned the book. The character of Milo Weaver would make a great role for someone like Clooney, though it would bear remarkable similarities to the tired assassin he played in the somewhat boring, The American. And The Tourist has the potential to be a much better movie than The American (as well as that Johnny Depp/Angelina vehicle of the same name, for that matter!).

The Washington Post writes: Much of the time, neither we nor Weaver has much idea what's going on, but we keep reading because he is likable -- a mess but still the most honorable man in view -- and because Steinhauer seems to know the world of spies and assassins all too well. In his telling, it's a nasty, duplicitous world, but it feels real. The question is whether our reluctant Tourist can get out alive and return to the wife and daughter who are counting on him to take them to Disney World. We are clearly being asked to consider which is more surreal: the spy world or Disney World.

One thing that rang false for me was how Milo met his wife, Tina. Olenhauer devotes barely any time to their first meeting, and assumes the reader will fill in the blanks regarding the reasons behind Milo’s near blind devotion to his wife and stepdaughter (whom he considers to be his own flesh and blood). It was on that day Milo had decided that his Tourist days were over, but there was no emotional explanation for how that fateful encounter with Tina changed the course of his life. It seemed rather lazy that the author avoided any exploration of this. Instead we have Tina explain to Homeland Security agent Janet Simmons how she and Milo bonded after seeing the World Trade Center collapse on TV when they were recovering at the hospital.  It was 9/11 that brought them together!

“When I figured out what had happened, I started crying, and that woke Milo. I showed him what my tears were about, and when he got it, he started crying, too. Both of us, in that hospital room, wept together. From then on, we were inseparable.”

Yikes.

That little snippet alone would be enough to make Olman stay away from this book!

But really, that was the only, if rather ringing, false note for me.

“It was a basic truth of Tourism,” Milo reminds himself, “that you trusted no one. Yet, if you had to trust anyone, it had better not be another Tourist.” 

I agree with the NYT reviewer who notes:   This is the kind of tough thinking (and strong writing) that surfaces whenever Steinhauer gets to what really interests him — the crippling disillusion and nerve-snapping paranoia that breed in closed cultures where trust is absent and internal intrigue rampant.

So yeah, I would definitely read the sequel, The Nearest Exit, if it ever appears on the freebie shelf at work!

Book 24 – What the Dead Know

By Laura Lippman

I don’t pay much attention to crime mysteries in general, but took note when reviews highly recommended What the Dead Know when it came out in paperback a couple of years ago.  This summer I happily found a pristine copy at a used bookstore in Halifax. The verdict? The book pretty much lives up to its critical praise, featuring an intriguing mystery, a nicely constructed storyline, emotional depth, solid characters and whip-smart dialogue. Though I didn’t love the book, WtDK did make a great vacation novel and a nice follow-up to The Hunger Games and The Outlander.

The story begins in the present day with a woman walking away after getting into a car accident.  The disoriented woman is soon picked up by the police along a highway. With no ID on her person, she claims to be one of “the Bethany girls”, two adolescent sisters who went missing from the area about 30 years ago.  From there an investigation is launched involving the retired detective who was originally assigned to the case, a younger jaded detective, and an empathic social worker, as they try to figure who this mystery woman is. The narrative is interwoven with flashbacks to 1975 which chronicle the days leading up to the girls’ disappearance as well as the disintegrating marriage of the parents. In many ways, the novel shares some similarities to The Lovely Bones, with its themes of familial grief and loss, the major difference being that WtDK has none of that wishful saccharine b.s. that made The Lovely Bones so cringe-worthy.

I don’t think I should go much further about the plot, but I will paraphrase what the NYT wrote:

Laura Lippman’s “What the Dead Know” is an uncommonly clever impostor story, so cagily constructed that it easily fulfills the genre’s two basic demands. First, Ms. Lippman is able to keep her reader guessing about the main character’s disputed identity until the very end of this book. Second, when the revelation comes, it makes perfect sense, and it has been hiding in plain sight. This is not one of those mysteries with a denouement that feels tacked on, half baked or pulled out of thin air.

I think what also elevates WtDK from its genre is the thoughtful attention to detail and well-drawn characters. Lippman did not have to go into how much Kay the social worker loves to read, but in this case, it was a nice touch. Not completely necessary, but still very much appreciated:

She took the coffee to a corner table and settled in with her emergency paperback, this one from her purse. Kay stashed paperbacks in every nook and cranny of her life—purse, office, car, kitchen, bathroom. Five years ago, when the pain of the divorce was fresh and bright, the books had started as a way to distract herself from the fact that she had no life. But over time Kay came to realize that she preferred her books to other people’s company. Reading was not a fallback position for her but an ideal of state of being. At home she had to be hyperconscious not to use books to retreat from her own children. She would put her book aside, trying to watch whatever television program Grace and Seth had chosen… Here at work, where she could have joined any number of colleagues for breaks and lunches, she almost always sat by herself, reading. Coworkers called her the antisocial worker behind her back—or so they thought. For all Kay’s seeming immersion in her books, she missed very little.

There were other nice little pop culture references, like how the Bethany girls snuck into an R-rated screening of Chinatown the day of their disappearance, and how the older sister Sunny loved the Anne of Green Gables books (rather fitting considering we had just visited PEI at the time). I suppose that sometimes it’s these little details that helps to make a novel memorable or not.

Even though Lippman has been writing since the 1990’s, What the Dead Know was her first book that made the NYT bestsellers list. Before that, Lippman was mostly known for her Tess Monaghan series about a Baltimore reporter turned private investigator. It’s funny cuz when I was reading about the Baltimore locales and the confident handling of police procedural in WtDK, I was wondering if Lippman ever wrote for the former HBO series, The Wire. It was only when it came time to write my review did I discover that Lippman is actually married to David Simon! Turns out they also used to work as reporters for the Baltimore Sun. Well, you can’t get any more made for each other than that.

More interesting tidbits gleaned from the Wiki: in episode 8 of the first season of The Wire, Bunk is shown reading one of Lippman’s books. And in the final season, the author has a cameo in the first episode as a reporter working in the Baltimore Sun newsroom. Makes for a great excuse to watch The Wire again!

Here is a very thoughtful review that sums up the novel nicely without revealing too much.

Book 23 – The Hunger Games

Suzanne Collins

I was already curious about The Hunger Games when I revisited an old YA PA novel I had liked as a teen, The City, Not Long After.  I had this notion that today's YA PA would ramp up on the violence and sex.  Thankfully, the violence was not as gratuitous as I was afraid it might be, and there was zero sex, let alone romance.

During our vacay, Olman spotted a hardcover copy of THG at our first B&B and promptly read it.  So he gave me the heads up that it was going to be a quick and addictive read thanks to the tight narrative, efficient pacing and generous amount of action.  Ingredients for the perfect beach novel! The only thing that annoyed me was how unrealistically naive the awkwardly named Katniss was about the opposite sex.  Naïve to the point of daftness. 

Though I appreciate Katniss as a strong, self-reliant teenage girl who taught herself to hunt (unlike the lame, milktoast Bella Swan from Twilight) and understand that she may have some trust issues since her mother went catatonic after her father died, but does the same intelligence, cunning and intuition she used for hunting game just automatically switched off when it came to reading guys?  Katniss' innocence and convenient obliviousness in matters of attraction was simply too trite for my liking.

Though I’m looking forward to the movie adaptation with Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss, I don’t have a strong compulsion to check out the sequels (unless an available copy magically lands on my lap, like it practically did with the first).  At least we have continued the tradition of leaving THG at a B&B in Lunenberg (the lovely Pelham House where resides two friendly ginger cats and an English Golden named Drum).

Since I still have a few reviews to hammer out, and I pretty much feel the same way as Olman (I also read it right after he did), I’m going to let Olman’s review speak for the both of us!

Book 22 - The Outlander

By Gil Adamson

In 1903 a mysterious, desperate young woman flees alone across the west, one quick step ahead of the law. She has just become a widow by her own hand.

The blurb alone had captured my fancy so I promptly made it one of my birthday requests (thanks bro!). Then I saved it to bring along for our summer trip to the Maritimes. It made a great vacation book: it had a nicely paced story, and was quite beautifully written too, with a nice balance between literary reflection and almost pulpy action.

A minor annoyance was the tiresome literary device of “the slow reveal”. In the beginning, the reader is purposely left ignorant of the events causing the widow to flee from her pursuers. As the story progresses, you learn that the two brothers are hunting their sister-in-law because she had allegedly murdered her husband in cold blood. More gets revealed -- little by little -- the events leading up to “the big trigger” – the day Mary goes ballistic and shoots her husband to death. I suppose the device is useful in mixing things up, every so often providing little breaks from the present narrative as we flash back to Mary’s past, so I can see why Adamson relied on it (like Sarah Waters did for The Night Watch). But I don’t think it would’ve detracted from the novel if I had known sooner either.

There was also the rather self-conscious habit of referring to Mary as “the widow”. Adamson did such a good job in fleshing out the character of Mary Boulton, that calling her the widow all the time kind of reduces her to a caricature or symbol. Quite a few other reviewers on Goodreads remarked on this too, so I wasn’t alone. There was also a decent love story woven in. After Mary ran to the hills (the Rockies) and after several days in the wilderness is left starved and exhausted, she was rescued by a fellow fugitive William Morleand, aka the Ridgerunner. I won’t reveal much further except this amusing quote from a Q&Q review:

A somewhat unbelievable romantic interlude ensues – can you imagine what the Ridgerunner must smell like after nine years of camping out in the Rockies?

But these are only trifling complaints for me since the novel is really quite good overall with many things I appreciated, like Adamson’s descriptions of character, perspective and place. I really felt like I was right there when Mary was lost in the mountains. I once spent a sleepless night camping alone on a meadow in Mount Seven (Golden, BC). I had never experienced that before, alone inside a pitch-black tent listening to constant rustling sounds from various creatures of the night. This passage totally reminded me of that:

She rested that dusk and woke later to find all light erased. The night was so dark she thought something stood between her eyes and the rest of the world. Blindness could not be this complete. Nothing but the sound of wind through trees. Somewhere to her left, the breathing horse. And high above, the slow funhouse creaking of pine branches. A blessing of her young life had been the fact that she remained more afraid of her own mind than of the dark. In fact, she loved the night. Still, here among the trees there was the call of unknown things. Small scrounging sounds to the left…or in front?

As a Quill and Quire reviewer notes:

…What is interesting about the book… is the fact that most of the characters come from well-heeled backgrounds (the brothers are always described in their “fine black boots”) and now find themselves battling the elements in one of the most forbidding environments on Earth. This is what continues to give Susanna Moodie’s Roughing It in the Bush such power, and Adamson’s description of Mary’s upbringing strikes a similar note: “a mire of useless things: sonatas and études; the art of a good menu; trousseaux … Bedtime at nine … Alabaster skin and parasols.” These are the items that run through her mind as she tries to puzzle out which alpine plants will keep her from starvation and which will kill her instantly.

I also appreciated the clever yet thoughtful way Adamson fleshed out William Moreland’s character by having Mary sneak a peak inside his notebook while he’s away hunting:

…A strange picture of this man’s life formed in her mind out of these glimpses.

He was soft of heart: “This evening I watched the thick beautiful green mountains surrounding the Canyon Station.” He wrote humourously about God: “The Great Elementary Director has spent almost twenty-eight days amusing himself by way of creating misery for earthly humans. I for one would almost think he had created a switch that would alternate from rain to snow.” And it seemed he had lived lately in empty ranger stations and observation towers: “…the observer feels as if they were becoming strangely intoxicated by the airy stimulants evaporating from such a beautiful nature-created scene.”

Here was a man who suffered no loneliness, who spent his days as he wished…

Most of all, I appreciated Adamson’s deft approach to the theme of being a woman in a man’s world and making it work with an engaging narrative. Mary is intelligent and innately unconventional, who happens to have the misfortune of being an uneducated woman at the turn of the 20th century, struggling with her new role as a young wife to an ungrateful pioneer husband:

…for it was much his usual habit: him watching her struggle to do the most basic things a wife must do, dissatisfaction written all over him. Her grandmother would have blamed her. She was a poor domestic student – in her ineptitude. Mary brought censure upon herself. Never mind that she was barely nineteen, or that all her training had been for a different kind of life. There was, she believed, something about her, or in her, that bred dissatisfaction. She remembered her grandmother saying to her, “You must stop being such a gloomy child. Can you not be pretty inside as well?"

To summarize, The Outlander was a very enjoyable read. I don’t understand some of the complaints about the various plot improbabilities, which is likely due to the fact that The Outlander is published by the prestigious House of Anansi Press (we're talking CanLit here, people). But since when did Canadian novels have to be all realistic, gloomy and unexciting? Can they not have some of those lurid tropes of genre fiction, like nail-biting action, melodrama and romance? For “contemporary literature”, I think Adamson did a wonderful job of creating a nice balance between the two.

Book 21 – Amnesia Moon

By Jonathan Lethem

Somnambulist’s very favourable review spurred me to read Lethem’s take on post-apoca sci-fi. I loved Motherless Brooklyn and enjoyed Fortress of Solitude, so chances were good that I’d like Amnesia Moon. Instead I found it to be an unsatisfying read, due to some boring segments and an annoyingly deliberate vagueness about the events that led to the demise of American civilization as we know it.

Some mysterious apocalyptic event had caused people to lose their memory and identity. Depending on where you’re from, there’s a different interpretation of what happened, so the event is only referred to as “the change”, or “the disaster”, or “the war”. But probably the most accurate is “the break” because at some point, reality got ruptured. What people used to know as reality was replaced by dreams… someone else’s dream. The dreamers impose their dreams on everyone else around him or her, because everyone else is merely a receiver.

To paraphrase Somnambulist, the dreamers use their power to alter realities, change memory, and control people. Each place uses this function in different ways to establish tyrannical control. Each place has only one dreamer, so there are pockets of different realities all over what used to be the American landscape. A pretty neato concept, really. The only problem is I’m just not sure if I liked the way Lethem executed it. I had gone into this novel not knowing anything about it, but I think if I had an idea of what the concept was, I would've been less confounded from the start. In any case, if you’re interested in reading this book, and want to be kept in the dark, read no further as there will be SPOILERS ahead.

Somewhere in Little America (probably the Midwest), a guy named Chaos is having conflicts with the local dreamer, Kellogg, and soon escapes the town of Hatfork (along with a hirsute female adolescent companion named Melinda) on a search for truth and self (not necessarily in that order). People he meets, he asks them what really happened, but they give their own vague spin on it, because nobody really knows. There are a lot of “I don’t knows” or “There’s a lot I don’t remember. Or understand.” The best answer by far: “It’s like a jump cut in a movie. Everyone is missing something.”

If I had to sum up the premise of Amnesia Moon, it’s about a guy with amnesia taking an acid, I mean, road trip out west through a dream-induced post-apocalyptic America. Somewhere in the Rockies, he gets lost in a land of opaque green mist and ends up inside a sterile complex populated white-suited bureaucrats and a pissed off dream-lady who tells him to move on. Then he ends up in a strange town called Vacaville where all the citizens have to move house twice a week and work a different job each day in order to test their luck. Instead of invasive dreams, the government bureacrats produce, star in and broadcast TV shows that the citizens are forced to watch (kind of like the CBC!). There he meets Edie, a young mother struggling to conform to Vacaville’s weird spin on dystopian society.

Then an old friend of Chaos named Fault shows up from San Francisco because he was able to “tune into” Chaos’ dreams. Edie agrees to look after Melinda while Chaos (now also known by his previous name Everett) continues his journey to San Francisco where he kinda sorta gets some answers. For instance, Chaos/Everett discovers he’s actually a powerful dreamer, he’s just been repressing his ability. Then he realizes that he was partly, if not totally, responsible for “the break” which all started in San Francisco (from what I can glean from the vague dialogue)! At some point, Chaos/Everett realizes that when he thought he had escaped from Hatfork to go west, he was actually going back to the place he originally ran away from!

Even though the novel was slim, I didn’t find the story structure very tight or cohesive. I found out later that the loose structure was likely due to the fact that Lethem cobbled together a novel from several of his unpublished short stories, which are all influenced in various degrees by Philip K Dick.

This is not to say I didn't like the book, as there were a number of cool and humourous moments in the story. Like how Hatfork was described as a bit of a shithole town, even in post-apoca standards:

Nobody went this way anymore because since the war, Hatfork was a sick town. Full of mutants and sexual deviants… Hatfork was a hairy town. Every woman from Hatfork he’d seen undressed—and he’d seen a few—had hair where she shouldn’t.

Or when Chaos and Melinda are lost in the land of green mist and run into a hippie who exclaims:

“Hey! Wow! What are you cats doing out here? … This is like, nowhere, you know. What, did you just come out of the Emerald City? Hey, that is one a hairy chick, man.”

Or when Chaos, in order to talk to his old friend, Cale, has to inject him like a drug. Or when Chaos is having another one of his rambling conversations with Kellogg, who I kind of picture as Jeff Bridges vis-a-vis The Dude:

“… That’s the way it has to be for you. You’ll always be living in an FSR… Finite Subjective Reality... You go creating a little area of control around you, until you bump into the next guy with his. A little sphere of reality and unreality, sanity and insanity, whatever you pull together. There’s no hope of sorting it out. That’s the way you live. FSR.”

Even though I haven’t read a lot of Philip K Dick, his stylistic tropes are easily recognizable in Amnesia Moon. I think if you’re already familiar with the work of PK Dick, this would make a much more rewarding read. As it stands, I only found this novel to be mildly amusing at best.

Here's another review which expressed how I felt.

Book 20 – Fingersmith

By Sarah Waters 

  "Fancies, Mrs. Rivers. If you might only hear yourself! Terrible plots? Laughing villains? Stolen fortunes and girls made out to be mad? The stuff of lurid fiction! We have a name for your disease. We call it a hyper-aesthetic one. You have been encouraged to over-indulge yourself in literature; and have inflamed your organs of fancy." 

  Sarah Waters first came on the scene with her critically acclaimed “lesbo Victorian romps” such as Tipping the Velvet and Affinity, which isn’t exactly fair, as Waters is a gifted writer of amazing range who has since expanded her repertoire to include gothic ghost stories and WWII fiction. My first introduction was a later work, The Night Watch , which I thought was beautifully written but had a rather disappointingly lackluster storyline. I’m glad I gave her early work a chance since Fingersmith is so far the best book I’ve read this year. I highly recommend it for both male and female readers! As the quote suggests, it has everything you could hope for in a Victorian period novel: an intricate plot, cunning thieves, unexpected villains, hapless yet intrepid heroines, and hot lesbian sex! And Waters’ wonderful writing elevates Fingersmith from being mere “lurid fiction”. 

 The novel begins in the London Borough in 1862. Sue Trinder grew up in a house of thieves run by Mrs Sucksby, who sells orphaned babies, and Mr. Ibbs, who deals with “the passage of poke”. Even though Sue was one of many dozens of orphaned infants that passed through the house on Lant Street, for whatever reason, Mrs Sucksy kept Sue to raise as her own. Like her adopted household, Sue became a fingersmith, which is basically Borough code for thief. One night, a man known only as Gentleman visits Mrs Suckby with a scheme of a lifetime. Before I go on, check out Waters’ introduction of this key character and how she captures his whole life history in just a handful of sentences via Sue’s narration: 

  We called him Gentleman, because he really was a gent—had been, he said, to a real gent’s school, and had a father and mother and a sister—all swells—whose heart he had just about broke. He had had money once, and lost it all gambling; his pa said he should never have another cent of the family fortune; and so he was obliged to get money the old-fashioned way, by thievery and dodging. He took to the life so well, however, we all said there must have been bad blood way back in that family, that had all come out in him… Mostly, however, he worked as a confidence-man, and as a sharper at the grand casinos—for of course, he could mix with Society, and seem honest as the rest. The ladies especially would go quite wild for him. He had three times been nearly married to some rich heiress, but every time the father in the case had grown suspicious and the deal had fallen through. He had ruined many people by selling them stock from counterfeit banks. He was handsome as a plum, and Mrs. Sucksby fairly doted on him. He came to Lant Street about once a year, bringing poke to Mr Ibbs, and picking up bad coin, cautions, and tips. 

 Not surprisingly, Gentleman has discovered another heiress to pounce on, but this one’s different. Maud Lilly was raised by kindly nurses in the insane asylum where her mother was committed. When she was left orphaned at 11 years old, her uncle claimed and brought her to live at Briar Estate. Unfortunately, her uncle is a miserly and obsessive book collector, bent only on molding Maud as his personal assistant for the sole purpose of cataloging his vast library of rare books. Confined to Briar Mansion and its grounds, Maud is granted barely any freedom. Through contacts of his own, Gentleman finds out that Maud has a sweet inheritance which she can only access if she gets married. And of course, Uncle Lilly would never let his niece marry, not when she is destined to be his personal slave! But clever Gentleman is able to wrangle a temporary position helping Mr Lilly in the framing of his illustrations. Clearly, Maud is the perfect target for the perfect con – an heiress who is not only a simple naïf, but desperate to escape her situation. The only catch is that Gentleman must watch himself when interacting with Maud because of her maid, Agnes. This is where Sue comes in. If Gentleman can get rid of Agnes, he can recommend Sue to become Maud’s maid, and then Sue can aid Gentleman in making Maud fall in love with him and accept his inevitable marriage proposal. And of course, Sue will get a nice cut of the inheritance money. Though Sue dreams of one day landing her fortune, she isn’t completely a cold-hearted Borough thief either. When she first meets Maud, Sue is not quite sure what to make of her mistress, but soon feels rather sorry for her:

  She was certainly, then, what you would call original. But was she mad, or even half-way simple, as Gentleman said at Lant Street? I did not think so, then. I thought her only pretty lonely, and pretty bookish and bored—as who wouldn’t be, in a house like that? 

 And the more Sue spends time with Maud as her maid, the more she begins to develop feelings for her. Ooh, dearie me! This premise in itself would make an interesting plot-line, but Waters’ really goes all out and takes this premise to the next level and then the next. Before you know it, you’re sucked into this almost 600-page page-turner and when it’s all over, you just can't believe it and try to read about it on the internets and discover there is also a BBC production, and so you acquire it and immediately watch it and then feel incomplete and dissatisfied because the adaptation barely captures the nuances and complexities of Waters’ brilliant novel. Take for example when Sue infiltrates the Briar household as Maud’s maid how she quickly observes that the servants are no better than her fellow Borough thieves: 

  That’s like a servant. A servant says, ‘All for my master,’ and means, ‘All for myself’. It’s the two-facedness of it that I can’t bear. At Briar, they were all on the dodge in one way or another, but all over sneaking little matters that would have put a real thief to the blush—such as, holding off the fat from Mr Lilly’s gravy to sell on the quiet to the butcher’s boy; which is what Mrs Cakebread did. Or, pulling the pearl buttons from Maud’s chemises, and keeping them, and saying they were lost; which is what Margaret did. I had them all worked out, after three days’ watching. I might have been Mrs Suckby’s own daughter after all. Mr Way, now: he had a mark on the side of his nose—in the Borough we should have called it a ginbud. And how do you think he got that, in a place like his? He had the key to Mr Lilly’s cellar, on a chain. You never saw such a shine as that key had on it! 

 Here’s a review that perfectly summarizes what makes Fingersmith such a great read: 

  In Fingersmith, the approach to the truth is so convoluted that appearances in one case have pointed one way while the truth lay all the while unsuspected in another direction. On top of the entangled fate of the two orphaned women, Waters surrounds their lives with characters who are unforgettable—neither wholly good nor evil. Whether it is Mr. Ibbs’ dealing with pickpockets for the stolen goods, Mrs. Sucksby’s unlicensed nursing of orphaned infants, Sue’s being part of the scam to make her fortune, the intention is to amount some good. Their actions often display a mix of self-interest and surprising altruism. Good to the last page. 

 Indeed, there is hardly a dull or insincere moment in this novel. Can’t recommend this book highly enough.

Book 19 – The Water Rat of Wanchai

By Ian Hamilton

When I came across Kevin Chong’s review of The Water Rat of Wanchai, I knew I had to read it, and promptly requested Olman to get it for my birthday in late April. How often do I get to read a stylish thriller about a Chinese-Canadian forensic accountant named Ava Lee who travels around the world kicking butt and breaking hearts? And the cover looks so alluring and tasteful in its hybridized Sino-exotica come James Bond-style graphics (instead of a gun, the Ava Lee silhouette carries a sleek briefcase).

First, let’s get a few complaints out of the way. We all know JB likes his cars fast and his martinis shaken. But does Ava Lee have to be Little Miss Designer Label? I mean, the girl can’t just write with a fountain pen and notebook, it has to be a Montblanc and Moleskine. She can’t just wear a nice watch, it has to be Cartier. She can’t just pack a simple suitcase, it has to be Louis Vuitton. Oh yeah, our heroine also lives in a swank high-rise in Toronto’s Yorkville, and drives an Audi 6. I understand that Hong Kong people may have perhaps a slightly more materialistic lifestyle than the average person. But come on!

I’m also of the same opinion as Chong when he noted that the first half of the book reads more like a travelogue than a thriller. It is understandable that Ava Lee would fly business class or check into luxury accommodation, but the description of her five-star hotel room is a little on the gratuitous side (though this does later make an amusing contrast to her divey far from “three-star” hotel room in Guyana, of which the author also goes into meticulous detail in describing).

You also have the sense that the author, who himself was a high-powered businessman and diplomat, is also kinda showing off that he also is familiar with this kind of lifestyle. The thing is, this may be vicarious lifestyle pornography for some, but for me, it’s boring and unimaginative. Ava Lee may be a top quality person, but can she at least have some taste that is interesting (meaning, not mainstream)? For the price of her swank condo, she could probably live in a townhouse in a hip area of TO, like say, Seaton Village, where I recently spotted Rachel McAdams walking with her bf Michael Sheen ;-)

And then there is the misguided Sinophile thing…

Yeah, it’s great that our heroine is smart, attractive and a lesbian to boot, but do we need to know that she also has “large breasts for a Chinese woman” and not only that, but “large enough that she [doesn’t] need a padded bra for them to get noticed.”

And yes, Ava Lee is also addicted to dim sum. There are quite a few passages where she’s having dim sum with a new client, dim sum with her mom or jonesing for dim sum when she’s in non-Chinese territory.

The thing is, professional Hong Kong business people, especially of the Chinese-Canadian variety, do not necessarily prefer to meet at popular (crowded) dim sum restaurants. Even though the wheeled carts are passé, noisy Cantonese families are distracting enough, even in the fancy places. And tables for two are few. Going for dim sum is a social activity where it’s ideal to go in groups. So it strikes me as odd to meet for a serious business lunch with a new client in such a place. It’s Toronto -- there are plenty of quieter, calmer restaurants (Chinese or non) in which to conduct a business lunch.

And of course, he had to mention the chicken feet! Again, not every Chinese person orders this! I certainly don’t! It’s obvious that Hamilton is targeting a Western market that is interested in some immersion in Asian exoticism. But if Hamilton is indeed aiming for cultural authenticity, he should've used “yum cha” instead of dim sum.

All right, now that I got my white guy lamely striving for Chinese authenticity rant out of the way, let’s get to the meat of the book, which unfolds as a pretty engaging story. There is a lot of setup at first about Ava’s background and how she fell into forensics accounting and working for a mysterious Uncle, who may or may not be a triad boss. Uncle feels obligated to help an old friend and puts her on a case where a business associate took off with 5 million dollars from his friend’s son. Once Ava Lee embarks on her investigation -- which takes her to Seattle, Hong Kong and eventually Guyana and the British Virgin Islands -- it gets quite absorbing.

Ava’s arrival in Guyana is memorable in its description of a destitute country with a barely functional infrastructure and our protagonist as a fish out of water. It’s in Guyana where Ava Lee has no choice but to involve herself with the corrupt military officials in order to carry out her mission. And eventually things get sticky, very sticky indeed for our heroine, and you get caught up in the suspense of whether Ava can extricate herself from the situation. The thing I liked about it is that it maintains a consistently naturalistic realism – nothing gets too over the top in terms of violence or drama, though there is some action (Ava gets to use her super elite bak mei skills a couple of occasions) and plenty of tension and suspense.

On Goodreads, some readers complained about how they couldn’t really relate to Ava because she doesn’t reveal many vulnerabilities. I don’t have that problem. This is a crime thriller, not literature about losers. I’d rather not see dig deep into Ava’s neuroses or whatever repressed psychological issues she may have, and wanna just see her kick some white male butt and solve cases. Did we have to probe into Parker’s psyche in any of the Parker books? Nope, nor do we need to with Ava. Just don't get too carried away with describing whatever designer accoutrements she possesses, please.

Despite that, the Ava Lee story is a great premise that has the potential to carry a series. I would more likely read the next Ava Lee installment over Flavia de Luce. Sorry Flavia!

Book 18 – The Crazy Kill

By Chester Himes

Six books for the month of May!

This may not be the best intro to the work of Chester Himes as The Crazy Kill is already the third book in a series and generally not considered his best work. I had picked up this Vintage Press 1989 reprint (doesn't boast the greatest cover, I know) for a couple bucks at our fave thrift shop, and read it when I needed a break from Something Borrowed (that book will haunt me for the rest of my days) to immerse myself in something tough from the classic crime genre . So for any fans of Himes please take this review with a grain of salt.

Though I was curious to know more about the back story of Detectives Gravedigger Jones and Coffin Ed, in The Crazy Kill they merely function as secondary figures who lurk in the background quietly observing the other characters doing their dance as the story unfolds. This worked out well for me since the plot of TCK stands on its own without any need to read the first two books.

The big luxurious sitting room of the Seventh Avenue apartment was jam-packed with friends and relatives of Big Joe Pullen, mourning his passing.

Himes follows literary conventions by establishing the setting, context and cast of characters, but in such a colloquial, engaging style that you are immediately drawn in. Though the story was interesting enough, I was not particularly impressed by it, as it wasn’t terribly exciting as a thriller, nor was it terribly perplexing as a detective-mystery, yet there was a fair bit of criminality and some police procedural. The actual murder at the beginning wasn't really all that crazy - until I got to the end, that is - where I finally realized this was what the title was probably based on. So yeah, that was kind of crazy!

But I did take pleasure in the way Himes depicts the atmosphere of late 50’s Harlem. There's plenty of scenery where street kids touch the gleaming hot fishtails of “Four Ace” Johnny Perry’s Cadillac as it pulls up to a curb or how Gravedigger Jones and Coffin Ed cruise down Seventh Avenue in their battered black sedan looking for stool pigeons.

Himes really has a way with words. The experience of being immersed in that gritty, noirish world is enough to compensate for a lack of thrilling action or interesting plot construction. It's the little details I tend to savour, such as a peak at a dinner menu at Fat’s Down Home Restaurant:

Today’s Special – Alligator tail & rice
Baked Ham – sweet potatoes & succotash
Chitterlings & collard greens & okra
Chicken and drop dumplings – with rice or sweet potatoes
Barbecued ribs
Pig’s feet á la mode
Neck bones and lye hominy

(Choice of biscuits or corn bread)

(Note that the next book I read tried to do a similar thing with Chinese food, but it didn't quite work for me. For some reason, this works for Himes, but not for others)

Or a brief description of the physical attributes of a character can be loaded with backstory and meaning:

Stripped to her black nylon brassiere, black sheer nylon panties and high-heeled red shoes, Doll Baby was practicing her chorus routine in the center of the floor. She had her back to the window and was watching her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. A tray of dirty dishes containing leftovers from the chili bean and stewed chitterling dinners they’d ordered from the bar restaurant rested on the table top, cutting her reflection in half just below the panties, as though she might have been served without legs along with the other delicacies. The outline of three heavy embossed scars running across her buttocks were visible beneath the sheer black panties.

I have a feeling Himes previous books in the series may be better in terms of plot and characterization of Gravedigger Jones and Coffin Ed, and I am interested in reading A Rage in Harlem one day, though I’m not in any great rush.

Here is link to a pithy review which I thought had some interesting observations.

Book 17 – The Crystal Cave

By Mary Stewart A few 50-bookers have already reviewed this classic tale about Merlin the magician. Le Braconnier, Print Is Dead and Olman did such a wonderful job describing what is basically a coming-of-age adventure tale with a bit of fantasy and historical epic thrown in, that I’m happy to have some respite in having to write about it myself. I went through a brief Arthurian phase as a teenager, reading the Mists of Avalon, the Rosemary Sutcliff books, and even catching the 1981 flick Excalibur when it played on television. But somehow I missed out on The Crystal Cave. Any spin on the Arthurian legends is subject to interpretation, really, and Mary Stewart distinguishes herself in providing some geographical and historical oomph to her take on the story of Merlin and Uther Pendragon, as well as good old fashioned quality prose that is engaging and descriptive but not at all flowery. Although I very much enjoyed TCC (which is the first of a quartet), I don’t think I’ll seek out the other books… unless it falls upon my lap like it did for me and Olman.

Book 16 - Paying For It

a comic strip memoir about being a john

By Chester Brown

In order to wash away the terrible taste of mainstream chick-lit that was Something Borrowed from my mouth, I contemplated going back to a Parker novel. But around that time, Olman had also impulsively picked up the latest Chester Brown and even finished it that very evening (though he has yet to read the copious notes). I then realized that Paying For It would be THE perfect antidote to a woman’s delusional fantasies about romantic love.

I had only started reading the comics of Chester Brown and Joe Matt from living with Olman, and only quite sporadically at that. I’m not really a fan yet on occasion I appreciate their talent and sense of humour. When you read the semi-autobiographical details of CB’s whoring and JM’s porno addiction and then look at Something Borrowed, you wonder how it’s even possible for the opposite sexes to co-exist, let alone have an intimate relationship with one another. Although CB and JM may be weirder than your average male, they nevertheless think a lot like men, while someone like Emily Giffin represents the kind of mainstream gal who typically has a strong - if not extremely reactionary - stance against such hot button topics as prostitution and pornography.

Chester Brown does not seem to be an anti-social loser, closet misogynist or sleaze ball. But he does hold rather unconventional views about sexual relationships and is rather cynical towards romantic love in general. He believes that romantic love is an idealistic concept that was invented in the Middle Ages. It wasn’t very long ago that people in the Western world began marrying for love, yet a long time before that, marriage was basically a financial contract between two families. He makes many comparisons between the institution of marriage and the obligations of a sexual relationship with that of the arrangement between a prostitute and a john.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Though there is definitely a fair bit of pro-prostitution proselytizing on CB's part, he also presents a compelling personal story. The comic begins in Toronto during the late 1990’s where CB and his live-in girlfriend Sook-Yin Lee are at the tail-end of their relationship (she wants to start seeing someone else). Rather than be upset about it, Brown sees this as an opportunity to enjoy his new status as a single guy. He is also genuinely psyched that he can maintain a close friendship with his ex now that they’re just roommates. In fact, he realizes their relationship is even better than ever before since it’s no longer burdened with the emotional baggage that comes with romantic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy, unrealistic expectations, role-playing, etc.). At some point, he even lets Sook-Yin’s new boyfriend move in with them, and soon derives some satisfaction in observing their relationship degenerate into the usual petty arguments that afflicts most long-term couples. This of course, reaffirms his jaded views towards romantic relationships.

Even though CB is enjoying his bachelorhood, he has been celibate a little too long for his liking. So he discusses the idea of seeing a prostitute with his friends Seth and JM, who are initially rather shocked by his proposal. Thus, we get a fairly interesting insider view as CB embarks upon the trials and tribulations of being a newbie john. I found the whole account quite fascinating, and even enjoyed reading the copious notes at the end where CB basically presents his treatise on prostitution. And it's not that he's pro-prostitution because he's a regular customer, but he really argues it with a sympathetic viewpoint of a sex worker as well. As someone who has some left-leaning attitudes, I tend to agree with most of CB’s arguments, ie. that prostitution should be decriminalized rather than legalized, that the sexual obligations inherent in a marriage or relationship are really not all that different from that of a prostitute and client.


The only things I didn’t entirely agree with were CB’s extremely cynical views towards relationships. He really does believe that happy couples are the rare exception to the rule – that it is simply not possible for two people to be happy and fulfilled in such a relationship. Yet I'm not entirely convinced whether a satisfying love life can be achieved by only seeing prostitutes either. Perhaps this kind of lifestyle suits someone like CB, who has been unsuccessful in finding happiness within the confines of a conventional heterosexual relationship, but again, all CB is arguing for is societal acceptance. If he hasn’t already, Chester Brown should read Julian Barnes’ eye-opening treatise on romantic love, “Parenthesis”. And Barnes is the kind of writer who can be as cynical as the rest of ‘em (he's known for saying things like “Love is just a system for getting someone to call you darling after sex”).

But what I appreciated most from CB was his honesty, or at least his constant striving for honesty, in Paying For It. I appreciated how the author explains some of his artistic interventions in the notes, ie. how certain conversations that took place in one sitting in the comic were actually condensed over a period of time, or how he wasn’t really that articulate in that conversation. Most of all, I appreciated CB’s skillful artwork and how he portrays himself (and his scrawny body) with some measure of honesty as well. For instance, when he finds himself in a "monogamous relationship" with a prostitute named "Denise" with whom he has some emotional attachment to, he admits in his notes that if he were to stop paying her, she would probably stop seeing him.

If there is one thing I learned in Women's Studies 101, every human relationship is based on the balance of power, in some form or another. If you look at it from this perspective, in some ways, it seems that the relationship between a prostitute and client is probably more honest than the sanctioned or conventional varieties.

This was a very, VERY refreshing and, if you can believe, heartening change from the piece of trash I read before.

Book 15 – Something Borrowed

By Emily Giffin

It might seem a little odd (and extreme) to go from an uber-masculine book like The Hunter to ultra-feminine trash like Something Borrowed. But hey, that’s how I roll. The only thing the two books have in common is they’re the type of books I do not normally seek out. It makes sense that I wouldn't normally read a Parker novel, but I'm also far from being a girly-girl. Admittedly there are rare moments when I succumb to my more feminine urges and read a chicklit book of the moment.

Our local thrift shop Chainon has been a treasure trove of dirt cheap books for me and Olman. The problem is that the English fiction shelf is also riddled with mainstream chicklit fare such as Eat Pray Love, Sex and the City, Twilight, The Nanny Diaries, The Princess Diaries, etc etc. So when I "happened" to read the blurb for Something Borrowed, I thought why not? The maid of honor ends up having an affair with the bride’s fiancé, and the blurbs made it sound like the situation could be portrayed with some measure of maturity and complexity. The the new movie starring Kate Hudson sounds pretty bad, but I thought maybe the book would surprise me with some interesting insights. At worst, it’ll be a throw away book, right?

Boy, was I dead wrong. I can be so naïve sometimes!

A quarter way through, I was already regretting getting this far, as the novel was turning out to be just another stupid, hackneyed romance. And the writing was absolutely horrid (no surprise there). But like the Twilight books, I just couldn’t stop. Like a terrible yet gripping soap opera, I had to find out what happens next! Still, there were so many things wrong with this book, I don’t know where to begin. But since a Reading Group Guide was conveniently provided at the end of the book to provoke thoughtful discussion, let’s just use what we’ve got.

Reading Group Guide

1. What do you think was the real impetus behind Rachel’s decision to sleep with Dex after her birthday party? Was it about her desire to break out of her good girl persona? Was it about a long-standing resentment toward Darcy? Or was it both?
Maybe it was simply that Dex was hot and he was there? And Rachel was turning thirty, probably hadn’t had sex in months and was super horny?

The question is misguided because this Rachel chick lacks some serious self-awareness, which translates as she doesn’t know WTF she’s doing. From how it was described, Rachel acted (and responded) on impulse, something which she doesn’t normally do. It was far from a decisive action. Deep down she knew what a pathetic loser she was by letting her best friend take her man and this was the only chance she had to get inside Dex’s pants.

2. How do you view Dex? How would you describe Dex and Rachel’s relationship? What drew them together? Did you root for them to be together? Do you think they have true love?
Dex is the stereotypical Mr Dreamboat whose beauty and desirability is constantly mentioned throughout the book. You know this is the stuff of fantasy when Mr Dreamboat is secretly in love with a 30 year old woman with average looks and intelligence who actually hates herself (with reason). Coupled with the fact that he is named Dex is enough to draw guffaws. The “relationship” between Dex and Rachel yields the same reaction. At one point when they are deep enough into their affair, Rachel summons enough balls to try to end it, but then she gets an email from Dex with the subject line “You”. It basically starts like this:

You are an amazing person, and I don’t know where the feelings that you give me came from. What I do know is that I am completely and utterly into you and I want time to freeze so I can be with you the time and not have to think of anything else at all. I like literally everything about you, including the way your face looks when my cock is in your mouth…
Ok, I confess the last 8 words were actually my own, otherwise the guffaws will take over. But seriously. If a guy does write something like “I like literally everything about you including the way your face looks”, chances are likely he will also be thinking about his dick in your mouth.

Re: true love. Well, let’s take a look at Rachel’s take on “true love” at the end of the novel when she finally gets Dex and makes dinner for him for the very first time (as she doesn’t cook):

Only then do I acknowledge that what I am feeling might actually be true happiness. Even joy. Over the past several days… it has crossed my mind that the key to happiness should not be found in a man. That an independent, strong woman should feel fulfilled and whole on her own. Those things might be true. And without Dex in my life, I like to think I could have somehow found contentment. But the truth is, I feel freer with Dex than I ever did when I was single. I feel more myself with him than without. Maybe true love does that.
Wow, do grown women really eat up this shite? If I get this right, Rachel believes that true love is not about two completely independent people sharing a life together, but two people who are missing something in their sad single lives and only find true happiness in each other. True love means that Dex completes Rachel. And Rachel completes Dex. My, the perfect recipe for a codependant relationship, if I ever saw one. (It is interesting to compare Rachel's take on happiness to Cassandra Mortmain's take on happiness - whose do you think is more genuine? But it's not fair to compare since I do not put Emily Giffin in the same league as Dodi Smith). But hey, this book is marketed as a contemporary urban fairy tale and this is precisely what it’s delivering. What did you expect, an update of Jane Eyre?

3. Is anything about Rachel and Darcy’s friendship genuine? Do you believe it has changed over time?

No sane rational woman with any measure of self-respect would remain best friends with a self-serving narcissist like Darcy for so many years. I've known people in these sorts of friendships/relationships and you eventually have to break up with them after a year or two at most because you realize that they are unrealistically demanding and possessive. In other words, they SUCK.

The book does an ok job portraying why someone with major self-esteem issues like Rachel would be friends with someone like Darcy, but again, I was looking for a story that was more about how a decent person would betray her best friend, who happens to also be a decent person, and the ramifications of that kind of fallout; not a story about a goody-goody girl who ends up betraying her friend because she stupidly let her friend have her man and this friend turned out to be a backstabbing bitch in the end so that the goody-goody girl gets a kind of get out of jail free card. That neat ending stuff does not interest me.

4. Do you think Dex and Darcy would have married if it weren’t for Dex’s affair with Rachel? Why did he stay with Darcy for so long?
Although Darcy is shallow, self-centred and high maintenance, she is also smoking hot, fun and charismatic. That is enough for most guys, even someone like Dex. Oh, but Dex is supposedly secretly in love with Rachel, who is average-looking, boring and passive. So maybe that is why Dex has stayed with Darcy for so long, so he could have Rachel close by. Right.

I think Dex ended up with Rachel in the end because he probably realized that he could be with a girl like Rachel and still get with babes like Darcy, because Rachel will take it. Whereas if Dex married Darcy, and he cheats on her, Darcy is the kind of girl who would cut off his dick in a heartbeat.

5. How did Rachel’s flawed self-image contribute to the dilemma that she faces? What do you see as her greatest weakness?
Rachel’s greatest weakness is her total lameness and passivity. It is a total drag to read a book narrated in first person by someone like Rachel. The fact that Rachel lacks self-esteem and insight causes her to let her boss treat her like his personal slave, be loyal to someone like Darcy, and let Darcy have the love of her life. Rachel’s issues causes her life to suck. But what really sucks is having to listen to Rachel whine and fret about her problems for most of the novel.

6. Was Rachel’s moral dilemma made easier because of Darcy’s personality? Would she have acted on her attraction to Dex if Darcy were a different kind of person and friend? If Rachel had fallen in love with Julian, would she have pursued the same course of action? How does Rachel rationalize her affair with Dex?
The novel seems to support the idea that it’s okay to cheat on your best friend or lover if she turns out to be a selfish, backstabbing bitch. There was never really a moral dilemma that Rachel had to face, except her feelings of guilt, which she rationalizes like any insecure person in that situation who has never truly lived. Also, Rachel would not have fallen in love with Julian because he listens to The Barenaked Ladies (gag). She and Dex are obviously meant for each other because they share a deep love of Bruce Springsteen (Darcy, on the other hand, is a big Bon Jovi fan).

7. What risks does Rachel take when she pursues her relationship with Dex? What is the biggest moment of risk for her? How does Rachel grow and change in the novel?WTF? Rachel never took any risk. She just finally made an ultimatum to Dex and then took off to London. The novel made it clear that the only risk was Rachel's friendship with Darcy, who conveniently turned out to be a villain at the end. No big loss there. Except that Rachel still missed her fun, bitchy friend! What a loser. As for Rachel growing and changing, let’s look at the blurb which mislead this reader so:

As the wedding date draws near, events spiral out of control, and Rachel knows she must make a choice between her heart and conscience. In so doing, she discovers that the lines between right and wrong can be blurry, endings aren't always neat, and sometimes you have to risk everything to be true to yourself.
So did Rachel actually remain true to herself? What does that mean really, in the author's thinking? If it means Rachel achieving some self-realization and growing as a person, then hell no. Darcy got her comeuppance but never learned her lesson because Rachel never confronted Darcy about what a terrible friend she was for all those years. Rachel got her man in the end, which is what the main goal of the book was really about. Yet we don’t have a sense whether Rachel had gained any self-esteem or respect. Oh wait, Rachel did learn how to make dinner for her new boyfriend in the end. That’s something, right?

So you could say that Rachel did become true to herself: she became liberated from her unhealthy friendship with Darcy and found contentment in her new role as Dex’s subservient girlfriend!

8. Disloyalty is a major theme in this novel. How differently do men and women view cheating on a friend? Why is Darcy so indignant when she catches Dex and Rachel together when she has been having an affair of her own?
Because Darcy can't imagine why a super hot guy like Dex would cheat on her with an unattractive, gutless loser like Rachel.

9. Under what circumstances is it justified to choose love over friendship? How important is it for women to stick together? Have you ever been in a friendship like Darcy and Rachel’s?
The novel justifies love over friendship if your best friend turns out to be a backstabbing bitch. Of course it is important for women to develop strong friendships but I do not believe that is the book's message. I have never been stupid enough to be in a friendship like Darcy and Rachel's.

10. This novel is told from Rachel’s perspective. How do you think Darcy would tell the same story? How do you think she would describe Rachel? How do you think she views their friendship?
See answer to 5. I don’t mind reading books about a heroine with low self-esteem written in the first person, as long as she is interesting and has something to say. But this Rachel character is none of these things. She is really a pathetic loser with no backbone, substance or appeal. I would have an even harder time reading a whole novel told from the POV of Darcy in the sequel Something Blue (which focuses on Darcy's struggles to cope with the fallout of her engagement to Dex and her friendship with Rachel). Dear God. Not even if you paid me.

---Something Borrowed was truly one of the worst books I have read. EVER. Something will have to be borrowed because I won't get back the time I wasted reading this piece of crap. It actually made me kind of hate womankind and feel some anger and embarrassment for my gender because this was a bestseller and from what reviews I could find, it seemed every woman loved this book and would recommend it to their friends. At least the Twilight books were kind of fun, goofy and action-packed but this was just a horrible reading experience. After finishing Something Borrowed, I considered immediately reading another Parker book just to wash the taste of tacky chicklit from my mouth. Then I realized there was an even better antidote….

Book 14 - The Hunter

By Richard Stark

I’m not quite sure what finally lead me to Richard Stark’s The Hunter. Perhaps it was reading two books back to back about neglected young girls that I felt it was time for something more masculine. Something lean, mean and bad ass. I had heard plenty about the Parker novels from Olman as well as the other 50-bookers. I certainly have also been enabling Olman’s adulation of the series by getting him three new reissues by the University of Chicago Press for his birthday since 2008. So it’s high time I checked out what all the fuss was about.

Another thing - although I have a soft spot for vengeance movies, I’ve never really sought out the equivalent in fiction. I don’t know if there’s a vengeance niche, but I recently came upon the eye-for-an-eye style of vengeance with surprised glee in The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo series. I wouldn’t be surprised if Stieg Larsson modeled Lisbeth Salander after the Parker character. Unusually intelligent and just autistic enough to be borderline anti-social, Larsson’s (anti-)heroine also operates within her own moral universe.

Since I’m sure all who bother to read this review are well acquainted with the storyline, I won’t go into summarizing The Hunter. I did appreciate the lean structure, taut pacing and sparse prose. Oh, which reminds me, another reason why I wanted to read this was that it simply made a bloody quick read. No wonder Olman bangs ‘em out so quickly – he just focuses on the slim genre books which dispense with all that descriptive, prosaic bullshit that is normally associated with literature. As Olman notes in his review, “there is no fluff here, no moralizing, no glee, no pornographic satisfaction in the revenge. It's like a short, direct punch to the gut that nobody else in the crowd notices until the guy crumples to his knees, gasping for breath”. Yeah, that pretty much nails it right there.

Indeed, the story starts off with Parker telling someone who kindly offers him a lift to go to hell (if this was written today, he would’ve told him to fuck right off). We soon learn that Parker himself went to hell and back, having been screwed over in a heist, thrown in the slammer, then escaping and living as a vagrant for a month. Damn right he is right bloody pissed and he won’t rest until he exacts his revenge, going about it patiently, cunningly and methodically. It was quite enjoyable reading how Parker steals and cons his way until he has the means to go after his enemies. When he finds out that his target Mal is a middle manager within a criminal organization, he single-handedly takes them on. Although he belongs to the criminal underworld himself, he still operates in his own terms.

I guess that’s the appeal of Parker - he’s a true loner - in a world that either wants to mess with him or have a piece of him. So he’s always a man on the move. The Parker character has endured and gained in popularity since The Hunter first appeared in 1962. Sorry if I keep comparing Parker to Lisbeth Salander (I’m not a Parker fan so I don’t have any pretensions of being a purist), but I think this is also why LS appeals to today’s readers (esp. those little old ladies who secretly like to kick a bit of ass) because she’s an updated (and more accessible) version of Parker.

Olman mentioned Parker as “an individual, a free radical, attached to no institution, organization, woman or job”. Parker is not autistic like Salander, but he obviously has sociopathic tendencies. His moral universe is even simpler than Lisbeth Salander’s: mess with me, and you die. Though he may come across as one, Parker is not exactly a misogynist as his black and white worldview applies to both men and women alike. It just so happens that being the wife of Parker allows a certain level of intimacy with this cold, calculating individual, if you catch my drift. This is how Parker ends up getting betrayed – his wife is his weakest link. Mal forces Lynn at gunpoint to choose: either kill her husband or be killed. When Parker finally confronts Lynn, being unaware of the back story, he never asks her what really happened. In Parker’s world, the fact of the matter is that his own wife shot him in the back, and even if he didn’t end up killing her for that, his wife was as good as dead to him. When Lynn ends up committing suicide, this brings little or no emotion in Parker. He just ends up watching too much bad TV and drinking a little too much that night. He just knows that he won’t make the same mistake again. Yup, this guy is bad ass.

A brutal yet entertaining read. And a refreshing change from the stuff I normally read.

Book 13 – The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie

By Alan Bradley

As a grownup, I do fancy stories about precocious young misfits. The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie is supposedly like a cross between Harriet The Spy and I Capture the Castle, the latter due it being about a motherless family living in an old Victorian mansion in post-WW2 England and told from the perspective of the youngest daughter, Flavia. But the comparisons pretty much stop there. Flavia de Luce is not your average 11 year old girl. Not only does she possess a brilliant aptitude for chemistry, but a morbid passion for poisons as well. It just so happens that when her “strange talents” had begun to manifest themselves, Flavia inherited the alchemist’s laboratory that once belonged to her dead Uncle Tar, conveniently tucked away in the attic of the De Luce mansion.

Soon enough, a dead body is found in the cucumber garden of Buckshaw Estate, and her stamp-collecting father, Colonel de Luce, is the prime suspect. The murder sparks Flavia’s curiosity as well as her obsessive-compulsive tendencies and she goes on a sleuthing spree that takes her all over the English county on her beloved bicycle and eventually leads her to father’s old boarding school. Flavia soon becomes embroiled in a philatelic conspiracy that involved a plot to assassinate Queen Victoria and a mysterious orange-tinted Penny Black stamp.

Alan Bradley is an Ontarian who has made several visits, but has never lived in, England though he does an admirable job capturing English rural life in the 1950’s. It’s interesting to note that this is Bradley’s first published novel at age 70, having taught scriptwriting at the University of Saskatoon for many years and having published non-fiction work. He is also a huge Sherlock Holmes afficionado. The events of TSatBofP unfold quite effectively and charmingly, and the pacing is quite efficient with some good page-turning moments.

However, even though the author has created a fairly original detective-heroine, there were still a few moments throughout the novel where it felt like an old dude attempting to write from the perspective of an pre-adolescent girl, albeit a highly intelligent one. Often it seemed that Bradley completely forgot that his character was only eleven years old. I suppose it’s possible that Flavia could recognize the “acrid protein smell” of insulin by sniffing a vial and deduce that the murder victim was diabetic, or single-handedly solve a cold murder case from 20 years ago (actually more than cold since the death was originally ruled as suicide), thus gaining the respect and admiration from Inspector Hewitt. But too often Flavia talks and thinks, well, like an old fart. Like any young girl who had lost her mother at a tender age, Flavia wants more than anything in the world is to be loved by her father. So when she manages to fanangle her way to see her father in the county jail, she is overjoyed when her father explains his story to her, even though she realizes that her poor deluded daddy thinks he’s talking to his dead wife, Harriet, instead of his youngest daughter.

Here we are, Father and I, shut up in a plain little room, and for the first time in my life having something that might pass for a conversation. We were talking to one another almost like adults; almost like one human being to another; almost like father and daughter…
… And so we sat, Father and I, primly, like two old women at a parish tea. It was not a perfect way to live one’s life, but it would have to do.

Then there is another time where Inspector Hewitt visits Flavia in her laboratory, and she makes him a cup of tea.

“Beautiful bit of bone china,” he said at last, raising the cup above his head to read the maker’s name on the bottom.
“Quite early Spode,’ I said. “Albert Einstein and George Bernard Shaw drank tea from the very cup when they visited Great-Uncle Tarquin—not both at the same time, of course.”

What kind of 11 year old girl talks like this, even if she is preternaturally intelligent and she grew up in an upper class English household in the 1950s? Would she really know or care what kind of china she’s drinking out of? And if she does, does she have to sound like a prim old lady?

Because of this, I found Flavia to be charming to a fault. Bradley has created a charismatic fictional character, but it sometimes feels like he’s trying too hard, with the result of having a heroine who’s much too good to be true. It’s the equivalent of having to watch those annoyingly precocious kids in Hollywood movies dispensing grownup wisdom to their elders. Flavia can’t quite come to life for me because too often I hear Bradley’s voice speaking through her. I understand that by making Flavia more child than adolescent allows her to insert herself in situations where an older person would be more conspicuous, but Flavia has far too much knowledge and experience than is possible for a gifted 11 year old. It would have been much more believable if Flavia was a few years older, say 13 or 14.

Another problem for me was how the other de Luce members were so superifically drawn. Flavia’s father is the same distant, taciturn figure as Daddy Mortmain in I Capture the Castle, and her older sisters Ophelia (“Feely”) and Daphne (“Daffy”) are merely self-absorbed, silly girls with a streak of nastiness. It’s unfortunate I was somewhat disappointed by the first book since Flavia de Luce has the potential to become a delightful mystery series (and the cover design strikes the perfect balance of whimsical restraint). Hopefully Flavia’s voice and the supporting characters will become more colourful and nuanced as the series develops. My brother also gave me the next book (The Weed that Strings the Hangman’s Bag) for my birthday, so I’ll see if things improve. Otherwise, I’m going to be moving on! There are far more interesting books to explore!