I read this novel purely because of its title, which immediately caught my attention. I didn't know anything about the author or her book - as it turnI read this novel purely because of its title, which immediately caught my attention. I didn't know anything about the author or her book - as it turns out it's a debut novel, which is both a good and bad thing.
The Last Days of California is the story of the Metcalf family, which embarks on their last road trip ever - they travel from their hometown of Mobile in Alabama to the coasts of California to experience the rapture. The father is a devout evangelical who is 100% sure that the Second Coming is rapidly approaching, and he doesn't want to miss the show (I guess the idea of meeting Jesus in Mobile was not to appealing enough, which is weird - wouldn't Jesus prefer to show up in Christian country?). Happy or not, the Metcalfs pack their bags, take the car and hit the road.
I admit that I was expecting a Utopian or post-apocalyptic novel, but this theme suits me just fine. The pilgrimage is always a good occasion to let complext characters engage in self-discovery - there's little else that they can do on the Journey. But it's not the case here. The novel is narrated by the fourteen year old Jess, who has to quickly come of age on the road - deal with her secretly pregnant older sister, her ailing mother and obsessively religious father, and discover the allure and mystery of boys. But it's not anything that has not been done before, and better - there's just not enough meat to sink one's teeth into. While Jess is a sympathetic character and we can relate to her confusion, she's never quite "there" and never has to face any real challenge or test: she never really has to confront her parents or even her sister, who drinks and smokes and only pretends to be religious. Jess's encounters with the boys on the road are ultimately without much consequence or impact on her character. Perhaps the biggest flaw of the novel is the lack of any serious religious conflict: I expected Jess to fight with herself over her beliefs or lack of thereof, but she's mostly resigned to being just a passenger. Most of the religious activities in the book consists of the father and sisters handing our tracts to fellow drivers and travelers.
While this is a debut, it's not the "fierce new voice" that the blurb promised - I'm glad I didn't read it before approaching the book or I would have been seriously disappointed. Still, it's not an entirely bad book - it's definitely readable, but stretched to the brim (I've read that the author began as a short-story writer, which could be how this book began as well). Like with most road trip novel it's all about the journey and not the destination, so it's no real surprise when The Last Days of California just ends, without going anywhere and offering any real resolution. In this case, however, the journey turned out to not be as interesting and illuminating as I would expect; the novel simply lacked any real substance and did not provide me with emotions or insights that I could take away from it. Still, it's a debut, and these are rough waters; all the good luck to the author in the future, which will hopefully bring on a longer and more developed book....more
In the acknowledgments section of his latest novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Neil Gaiman admits that the project was initially meant to be a In the acknowledgments section of his latest novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Neil Gaiman admits that the project was initially meant to be a short story, which grew to be a novel - not a very long novel, but a novel nonetheless. For fans it was big news, as it would be his first novel for adults since 2005's Anansi Boys.
I was never really into Gaiman's work - I wasn't crazy about American Gods or Neverwhere and Coraline, all of which are routinely mentioned as fan favorites. I loved Stardust, though - his short fantasy which I thought was beautiful and had to read in one sitting. The Ocean sounded like a a welcome return to the familiar field, and I was compelled to give it a try.
Gaiman's narrator is an unnamed English man in his forties, who returns to his childhood home located in the English countryside of Sussex. There he is drawn to familiar places which he has not seen for ages, and which evoke memories long buried. He ends up by the house of his childhood friend, Lettie Hempstock, and remembers when he was seven years old and how Lettie used to call the pond beside her house an ocean.
Ultimately, this is a lazy book - for several reasons. The first one is an enormously flat and dull narrative voice. The narrator is obviously remembering his youth from an adult perspective, but the end effect is reduced to sentences in vein of "I did this and that" "And then this happened". There's absolutely no childish joy or fear, or even the adult's surprise at a sudden recollection of a forgotten memory of youth. The language is lackluster, flavorless and as flat as the steppes of Kazakhstan, to the point of becoming downright dull and distracting because of its dullness. How are the readers supposed to give a damn if we can barely muster the strength to turn the page?
Perhaps it's my own recent personal experience of spending a week in an English village while visiting my friends, but I thought that the setting of this book was another lost opportunity. The countryside is beautiful, but all the the reader will get from it in this book is the fact that people live on farms and sometimes have small ponds near their houses. There's no sense of place specific to Sussex or England in this book at all; it could as well have taken place in the suburbs of Chicago.
Not that long ago I read and reviewed The Land of Laughs, the debut novel of Jonathan Carroll, a fan favorite considered to be classic of fantasy - which I found to b a bland play on fantasy tropes without much originality, I have the same complaints about The Ocean - which really is nothing more than an overly stretched short story, employing all the well known staples of the genre and made up to resemble a short novel. The protagonist is an obvious stand-in for the author, but besides waxing nostalgia and melancholy the novel doesn't seem to have any real goal or accomplish anything in particular. It reads almost like Neil Gaiman's rushed assignment for a creative writing class he took ages ago - full of pretension of powerful statements about human beings, deep as the ocean, but in reality being little else than the well-known drizzle deep no more than an ordinary puddle, which evaporates after a few days and leaves absolutely no mark. ...more
I was ready to love The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. It was one of the biggest publishing hits in 2008 - it captured the attention of writers such as RichI was ready to love The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. It was one of the biggest publishing hits in 2008 - it captured the attention of writers such as Richard Russo and Stephen King. and was picked up by Oprah for her book club. Quite a feat for a debut novel!
David Wroblewski spent 10 years writing this bool - both a classic "boy and his dog" coming of age story and a sweeping saga of an American family set in rural northern Wisconsin in the 1950's. It's big - over 600 pages. It's ambitious and captivating, becoming increasingly more difficult to put down as the pages turn. With Edgar Sawtelle Wroblewski has created a protagonist who might have been fondly remembered with other famous personas of American literature in years to come - but at the same time his work is recognizably flawed, with the third act particularly to blame.
Edgar Sawtelle is a mute boy born to a family of dog breeders, who live at the outskirts of the Chequamegon forest in remote northern Wisconsin. The Sawtelle dogs are famous for being excellently bred and trained, and buyers seek them out because of their behavior, not looks. Wroblewski devotes a significant amount of pages to the techniques of dog training and the process itself - but he has a great descriptive talent and the novel never lags, pulling in even the readers who have no interest in the subject. Edgar is a wonderful protagonist - although mute, he speaks clearly through sign language to both dogs and humans alike. Wroblewski does a great job at developing Edgar's bond with the dogs - it's natural both for him and his protagonist.
But something is rotten in northern Wisconsin. By now it's no secret that The Story of Edgar Sawtelle is a more or less obvious retelling of Hamlet, which is probably it's greatest flaw. The shadow of Shakespeare's play hangs over it and never lets it become a sovereign work. And it's such a shame, as I can definitely sense a great novel in here - only it's not allowed to surface. In the end the characters, human and canine, are merely reduced to their respective Shakespearean parts - whether they want it, or not, and merely play their roles. More and more unanswered questions and wasted opportunities pile up, as the novel goes down in flames in the third act - predictably so, all too much. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle reads like a great novel that could have been - an opportunity stolen by the author who desperately clung to rewriting an already well known Shakespearean tragedy and abandons all the ideas which made his own work interesting in the first place....more
Eden Robinson's debut Monkey Beach is set in the north coast of BC, just where the Alaskan Aleutian Islands and the pFind a map of British Columbia...
Eden Robinson's debut Monkey Beach is set in the north coast of BC, just where the Alaskan Aleutian Islands and the province's own Charlotte Islands begin. There lies the city of Kitimat, surrounded by picturesque mountains and pine trees of the Pacific Northwest. "Kitimat" comes from the Thshimian language, and means "people/place of the snow" - an answer that they gave to European explorers when asked about the place and people who inhabited it - the Haisla.
Monkey Beach is narrated in the first person by Lisamarie Michelle Hill, a teenage girl growing up in Kitimaat village, a Haisla reservation south of the city. The wilderness five hundred miles north of Vancouver is demanding, but enchanted: Lisa isn't afraid to swim or hunt, and she feels a connection with the world of the spirits. However, everything changes the day when her younger brother goes missing at sea. The novel opens on the morning after his disappearance.
Monkey Beach is the first English-language novel written by a Haisla writer; and it couldn't be a better debut. Eden Robinson is terrific and beautifully captures the essence of living in a small, tightly-knit community which despite its remoteness cannot ignore the events of the country - and world - which slowly, but surely, will influence also their way of life. Lisamarie Hill is a great protagonist - she's a feisty terror but is ultimately very likable and one that we'll care and root for, and her voice is believable, honest and authentic. The rest of the cast doesn't drag behind - especially Lisa's paternal grandmother, Ma-ma-oo, who teaches her about the ways of the Haisla and the spirit world, along with her uncle Mick - her paternal uncle, a seemingly jovial bachelor who just recently returned home after many years in the American Indian Movement. All this is enveloped by the sights, sounds and smells (and apparitions!) of Robinson's native BC. One can almost see the ocean and breathe the fresh air.
If I had to specify one complaint, it would be this - I wanted more! I grew attached to the story and its characters, and the places they inhabited, and wanted to stay there for a while longer. Like Louise Erdrich, Eden Robinson has a great ability to create interesting characters and tackle on a multitude of themes, and I wished to experience more of her skill. Th novel does seem to run out of steam by the end, which seems to be contrived when compared to the easy, natural flow of the rest of the text; but it's a small flaw of a really quite lovely and underrated book. I'd definitely like to read more of Eden Robinson's work and would like to return to this novel in the future....more
Miriam Toews's third novel - and the first one I've read - won the Governor General's Award for Fiction and was nominated for the Giller Prize; it alsMiriam Toews's third novel - and the first one I've read - won the Governor General's Award for Fiction and was nominated for the Giller Prize; it also won the 2006 edition of Canada reads, the first book by a female novelist to do so.
A Complicated Kindness is narrated by the sixteen year old Nomi Nickel, a Canadian girl living in a small town of East Village in Manitoba, near the American border, during the 1970's and 1980's. Young Nomi daydreams about living in New York City, the "real" East Village, and hanging out with Lou Reed. Instead she's stuck in a dump of a town in the middle of endless Manitoba prairie, where the main street is always empty and nothing ever happens. Nomi can only drive to the border to catch a glimpse of America, but always has to return to the depressing town of her birth, where she and her friends can only stare at the beckoning distant lights of other cities. Ironically, it is the dead-beat East Village that people flock to, as this otherwise unremarkable town is a Mennonite community - and attracts both American and Canadian tourists, who see it as an authentic heritage site. In reality it's little more than a theme-park for tourists, with the locals doing what they can to maintain its image as a pioneer town.
Nomi lives alone with her father, a quiet, reserved man and dutiful member of the church. Her mother and older sister both quit town, one after another, both unable to cope with the inflexibility and close mindedness of a small, religious town. Although she goes along with the drift most of the time, Nomi alo drives around with her friend, smokes pot and reads non-religious literature; she doesn't want to be shaped into comformity by the slow drill of religion, but doesn't know where to seek answers or guidance. But then again, who does?
Miriam Toews writes a compelling voice, and her impersonation of the confused and curious teenage Nomi rings true - probably because of her own experiences in the Mennonite town of Steinbach, on which East Village is modeled. But is it enough to carry a whole novel? There isn't any real story here, and no plot drive to speak of; there is a whole lot of random detail which helps us immerse ourselves in Nomi's world, but there are many unanswered questions and a definite lack of closure. Some things are implied, but some are simply left by themselves; there's no real resolution of any kind to matter which interest us. I liked the characters and wanted to know more about them, which simply didn't happen.
I'll certainly read more of Miriam Toews's novels - she is a good writer - but I they'll prove to be a different and more focused experiences than A Complicated Kindness....more
Tell the Wolves I'm Home is Carol Rifka Brunt's debut novel, and was a huge publishing hit last year - being named as one of the best book of the yearTell the Wolves I'm Home is Carol Rifka Brunt's debut novel, and was a huge publishing hit last year - being named as one of the best book of the year in 2012 by The Wall Street Journal, Kirkus Reviews and The Oprah Magazine, along with becoming one of ten Amazon's Best Books of the Month for June.
The story is narrated in the first person by a 14 year old June Elbus, an awkward and antisocial teenager whose only close friend and confidant is her beloved uncle Finn, a talented and celebrated painter. The story is set in New York of the 1980's, at the time of the emerging AIDS epidemic - a disease from which Finn is dying quickly. Finn's last gift to June was to be a painting of her and her older sister, Greta, but death stopped him from finishing it. June feels that she is left to grieve his death on her own - her parents are busy accountants and the relationship with Greta is best described as very troubled. But all changes when June discovers the secret her uncle kept from her - his longtime parner, Toby, who seeks her out, even though her parents blame him for willingly infecting Finn with AIDS. Although June is reluctant and skeptical about meeting Toby the two eventually form a friendship - an alliance, sharing memories of Finn, hoping to ease their grief. But what June doesn't know is that Toby has a secret of his own...
Carol Rifka Brunt writes well, and the novel proves to be very readable - the story moves along swiftly and does not suffer from excessive flab. June is a believable teenager who goees through the all-familiar perks of growing up, and her tense relationship with Greta was my personal highlight of the book - I could relate to June's longing to be close again to her sister, with whom she was the best of friends just yesterday and who seems now to be miles away, forever beyond her reach. The relationship that June had with her beloved uncle doesn't reach the same level - she tells us constantly how much she misses him and how much he meant to her, but shares periliously little details. Finn never comes alive as a character - more as an idealized person that he no doubt was for June, but it doesn't make it any easier for the reader to understand the depth of her grief after he dies.
However despite the compelling relationship between the sisters the novel never quite reaches its full potential - it's set firmly in the Young Adult territory, using a wide canvas on which its themes are clearly transmitted with use of various theatrics, resembling more a carefully crafted and pre-planned drama, as opposed to real life unfolding before our eyes. The independence which the two girls have also doesn't ring true and the ending in particular seems to be excessively dramatic. But perhaps it is just me - I did come to this novel with high expectations, after seeing all the positive reactions from positive reaction on Goodreads and among my GR friends.
In short: Carol Rifka Brunt has written a good debut novel which almost anyone is bound to enjoy, as it stays firmly in the safe territory of the non-offensive and while it doesn't reveal any new truths or provide any particular challenges it provides for a nice way to spend an afternoon or two, immersed in the story of two lonely people trying to connect and overcome their mutual grief. ...more
Growing up in Poland you couldn't escape but be exposed to Polish war movies and dramas. The war defined this country and its people, with the countryGrowing up in Poland you couldn't escape but be exposed to Polish war movies and dramas. The war defined this country and its people, with the country being completely destroyed and around 5,6 million people dead; because the Western powers trusted Stalin the country borders also changed, with parts of eastern Poland being ceded to contemporary Ukraine and Lithuania. But the rotten top of the cake came when the country fell under the influence of the USSR, and disappeared behind the Iron Curtain for over half a century. However, Polish people are stubborn: the 1980 Solidarity led to the creation of the Soviet's block first trade union, and the subsequent protests formed a wave of reactions throughout Europe, which eventually led to countries breaking away from the Soviet sphere of influence and gaining independence.
So what did the Polish people do during all these grim years? And they were grim all right: imagine walking into a store and seeing nothing, literally nothing on its shelves - and then going into another one and seeing empty shelves again, and in another one, and another. Food stamps were not welfare - number of goods one could purchase was limited, with most not being available at all. The black market flourished for those who could afford it, but mostly people stood in long queues to buy whatever was available at the moment. Everything was scarce.
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This is not Black Friday but a normal Polish week in the 70's and 80's.
You'd be surprised to hear that culturally the country wasn't doing so bad. It was during this time that it produced classic motion pictures and dramas, most of which are highly regarded to this day for their witty social humor and relentless mocking and parodying of the opressive regime, in particular its absurd bureaucracy. It was the time when science fiction could be used as political commentary in thin disguise, and so was music. With severe limits imposed on them, people sought to express themselves and to great effect - even in sports. In 1974 FIFA World Cup Poland got the third place (which is practically unbelieveable when you look at the contemporary face of Polish football) after losing 0:1 to West Germany in a dramatic match - the game was goalless for 76 minutes as both teams struggled on the rain soaked field.
The war also made an impact on Polish entertainment. Two of the most popular and enduring Polish TV series have both been about it: The first, More Than Life At Stake was a suspenseful espionage drama about a Polish double agent in the Abwehr in occupied Poland, which cleared the streets when it aired as people were rushing to those who had a television set to not miss an episode; the second, Four tank-men and a dog was a whimsical series about the adventures of a T-34 tank crew and their dog in the Polish army. It was largely a pro-Soviet propaganda piece, made to whitewash the Soviets but people loved it - and still do. How I Unleashed World War II is a series of three comic films about a Polish soldier who is convinced that by an incredible strain of coincidences he has started the second World War and wants to undo it, constantly getting himself into trouble on different theaters of war. The movies poke fun at the German soldiers relentlessly and brought some joy to people of the country which suffered so much at their hands. And it is these whimsical films that I was reminded of when I read City of Thieves. David Benioff is an estabilished American screenwriter who wrote screenplays for the HBO adaptation of Game of Thrones and movies such as Troy and X-Men Origins: Wolverine. City of Thieves is purpotedly based on true experiences of his grandfather during the siege of Leningrad.
Leningrand is now named Saint Petersburg, and is located near the Gulf of Finland in northwestern Russia. It is the second largest city in the country with over five million inhabitans, and has formerly served as the capital of the Russian Empire. All great Russian revolutions of the early 20th century took place there - the Revolution of 1905, the February Revolution and the pivotal Russian Revolution of 1917 which abolished Nicholas II and ended the Russian Empire and led to the creation of the Soviet Union. After Lenin's death the city was renamed "Leningrad" to honor him; the name was changed to Saint Petersburg in 1991. Today it is an important Baltic port and a cultural center - the place of birth of Dmitri Shostakovich, Vladmir Nabokov and Ayn Rand, the setting of Crime and Punishment. Through its middle flows the river Neva, and in its center sits the Winter Palace - the former residence of the Russian Monarchs, described to me by my mother as the grandest building she ever saw.
The city is also the site of the deadliest siege in the history of warfare. From September 1941 to January 1944 the German army severed the last land connection. Over a million of Red Army soldiers and hundreds of thousands of civilians lost their lives due to the bombings, famine and terrible cold. In 1945 it received the Soviet honorary title of "Hero City" - an award it shares with Moscow, Odessa, Kiev and Stalingrad among others.
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Benioff's novel is presented as fiction, although it's more than implied that the material is at least partially biographical - with creative edits here and there - the novel's unnamed narrator lives in Los Angeles and writes "screenplays for movies with mutant superheroes", and visits his retired grandparents in Florida. He intends to write about his grandfather's experiences in Leningrad and publish them. The elder obliges: when he cannot remember certain details, he instructs his grandson to make it up - since he is a writer. What follows is a quite engrossing novel which kept me turning the page with intensity way larger that i have anticipated. You have never been so hungry; you have never been so cold. these words open the narration of Lev Beniow, who lives alone in an apartment in Leningrad. His mother and sister fled the city when it was still possible, but he refused; his father - a poet - has been captured by the NKVD, and Lev feels the obligation to defend his home from the invaders. Lev lives in severe conditions, and together with a group of friends they almost make do; one day a dead Luftwaffe pilot falls from the sky, killed not by another plane but by the extreme cold. At attempt to loot the body is spotted by the Soviet officials, and despite the fact that the punishment for looting is death Lev helps his friend (and a secret sweetheart) escape, being caught in her place. He is taken to prison where he is to await his execution, and there he meets Kolya Vlasow, a deserter from the Red Army. Kolya is everything Lev is not - cultured, witty, charming and socially refined, and quite given to bragadaccio, particularly when it comes to relations with the opposite sex.
Expecting the worst, Kolya and Lev are brought before NKVD colonel Grechko, who offers them an offer they can't refuse: he will let them live if they can find a dozen eggs. Grechko needs the eggs for his daughter's wedding cake - they're the only missing ingredient. Although he and the boys both know that in Leningrad there are no eggs in Leningrad, he also knows that when put against a wall man can sometimes do what can only be described as miraculous. He has nothing to lose, while the boys have everything. While the colonel might be perceived as kind of a bastard, he is a weird sort of way a likable person: he gives the boy a waiver which will give them immunity from the Soviet soldiers, a hundred rubbles and five days to return with a dozen eggs. There is no use running away: the environment will kill them, and if it doesn't the colonel's men will hunt them down and kill them, and if they are crazy enough to try to leave the city they will be killed by the Germans.
And so begins this fine yarn, which despite its relatively short length holds more than a few surprises up its sleeve. Its lenght is not a detriment - Benioff does not aim to write a historical epic about war. His screenwriting expertise will make sure that the narrative is taut and compelling, with new developments occuring quickly one after the other. Although the novel moves very swiftly, the issues it touches upon are never toned down or simplified for the sake of trying to appeal to the audience. The harshness of life in Leningrad is shown well, and the brutalities and absurdities of war (where else would two boys be sent on such a quest?) are on full display, with several brilliant set pieces which are bound to affect any reader - although the novel might at first glance seem to be adressed to young adults, the author does not shy away from the violence, of which there is a fair amount - some of it quite graphic and really effective. None of it is graphic for its own sake, and the novel never descends to a simplistic bloodbath.
The main joy comes from seeing the interaction between the two main characters. Lev is a great narrator: an intelligent and opinionated young Russian, who is shy around girls and irritated and frustrated about his situation, his country and his father; Lev is very sympathetic and a great storyteller. Kolya, On the other hand, is a great jester with irresistible charms, one who never stops bragging about his abilities and accomplishments (especially when it comes to women). While Lev is a bit subdued and quiet, Kolya is often arrogant and full of himself, claiming to be an erudite expert on almost anything - from philosophy and literature to warfare and women. As they embark on their quest to find the eggs their friendship progresses, and it's a delight to see it grow. Since the novel is written by Lev's grandson, the wording does not aim to accurately reflect the way people spoke and wrote around the time: the author writes the story as a contemporary man, not one in the 1940's, but it does not take anything from the novel - I would argue that it allows the readers to immerse themselves in it better. Along their way on the quest for a dozen eggs Lev and Kolya meet many colorful characters, all of which are well developed - the author never uses pure stereotypes and cardboard cutouts, and gives weight not only to the main players but to the supporting cast as well. The sense of war and everpresent danger, is strong in this one, but so is the sense of adventure and fun, despite all the horrors and grimness. Benioff knows how to use dark humor and not sound completely cheesy or over the top, never going into the maudling and overly sentimental territory where many other writers would jump right in to squeeze the emotions out of the reader like you squeeze juice out of a lemon. The novel charms its reader, quickly weaving its spell, and suddenly we are completely captivated and unable to put the damn thing down.
I had so much fun with reading this novel, which was a very pleasant surpriseWhile it is definitely not a straight account of the siege of Leningrad, I can see it as a great gateway for readers to fuel their interest about that particular place and time (and it is fascinating stuff). City of Thieves is suspenseful and engaging, with great characters and an engaging storyline. I had a marvelous time with this novel, which in its compact size managed to contain an engaging story about coming of age during the war, and all that comes with it - the harshness, cold and hunger, but also friendship, adventure and love. Great stuff!...more
It was the day my grandmother exploded. I sat in the crematorium, listening to my Uncle Hamish quietly snoring in harmony to Bach's Mass in B Minor, aIt was the day my grandmother exploded. I sat in the crematorium, listening to my Uncle Hamish quietly snoring in harmony to Bach's Mass in B Minor, and I reflected that it always seemed to be death that drew me back to Gallanach.
The Crow Road is the first novel by Iain Banks that I've read, and it has one of the best and irresistible opening hooks ever - it quite literally begins with a bang (get it?). What other novel begins with the main character's dead grandmother exploding?
Iain Banks is a Scottish writer who is probably more known in the US for his science fiction, which he publishes as Iain M. Banks (using his adopted middle name, Menzies). The Crow Road is one of the mainstream novels he publishes as Iain Banks, and one of his most beloved works. The title is delivered from a (supposedly) old Scottish saying referring to death - if you're "away the crow road" you're not going to be coming back.
The novel's protagonist is Prentice McHoan, who returns from Glasgow to attend his grandmother's funeral held in his (fictional) hometown of Gallanah in Argyll and Bute, on the picturesque west coast of Scotland. This is not the first loss in the family: eight years ago Prentice's favorite uncle, Rory - a bohemian travel writer, motorcyclist and author of a memoir chronicling his travels through India - has left his home, taken his motorcycle and vanished without a trace. When Prentice meets with his aunt Janice, Rory's partner at the time of his disappearance, he comes into posession of some of Rory's papers and computer diskettes. He discovers that at the time of his disappearance Rory was working at a new project, titled - you guessed - The Crow Road. Prentice thinks that in these documents lies the clue to solve his uncle's disappearance and decides to analyze them, not knowing that he might find out more about his family than he hoped for. The novel resonated well with readers upon its publication in 1992, and in 1996 BBC produced and adaptation for the small screen, which was also very succesful.
With this novel Iain Banks has proven himself to be a great storyteller who can handle a large cast of interesting, quirky characters - each of which is distinctive and unique personal traits. Banks creates a family which feels real, not scriped, and it's a delight to see his characters interact with one another. Prentice is a student who is struggling to survive and find himself in the world, and is compelled to believe in some sort of a higher power. Prentice cannot accept the fact that people simply cease to exist when they die; he thinks that their consciousness somehow continues on. This provokes a strain in relations with his father, Kenneth, a writer of books for children and a comitted nonbeliever, who denies the possibility of an afterlife and any universal purpose. Luckily, there's Ashley, his childhood friend, and her uncle Lachlan. Prentice's other uncle Fergus owns the local glassware factory and is an important figure in the town as the business made him very wealthy, and he lives in a grand castle. Because of his travels and exotic experiences Uncle Rory has already been an enigmatic figure, and his mysterious disapparance only adds more fuel to the Prentice's eagerness to find out what happened to him. The McHoan family interacts with the Watts and Urvills, and each family has a different financial and social background, each as different as real people are from one another.
Banks tells his story mostly through Prentice's eyes, employing him as the first person narrator - and does an admirable job at creating a character who is sympathetic but also at times unlikable, who behaves like a jerk and is often not aware of things around him, but with whom we cannot help but sympathize, because we can remember full well how confused we were at one point in our lives or another. Parts of novel are set in another timeline and told in the third person, letting the reader see the past of Prentice's family and its members present themselves, instead of being interpreted by someone else. What could easily have ended up as a mess works perfectly and gives the reader a more intimate insight into the storyline and the formation of its characters - in particular his father Kenneth, whose stories about Scottish myths and legends capture the attention and minds of children. Even though the sections are chronologially out of sequence they compliment one another, never feeling artificial, showing how times past haunt the times present.
The Scottish setting is used to full extent here - Banks has a real sense of the place he's writing about. His Scotland is a place full of beauty and myth, even employing the obligatory imagery of castles, mountains and lochs without sounding tired and cliche, effortlessly presening the experience of growing up as a young lad in Scotland as unique and magical. He certainly romanticizes it a bit, but does so without the descent to posh sentimentality - he obviously remembers his own growing up in Dunfermline very well. Characters even use a fair amount of Scottish dialect, none of which feels forced - it contributes to their personalities and lets the dialogue flow smoothly, without sounding false. There's also a fair amount of humor in this book, sometimes grim - but also outrageously funny, such as Prentice's exploding grandmother (who herself was quite a character). Although the novel is full of death, it manages to walk the crow road with laughter, never truly losing its high spirit.
The Crow Road is a a long novel, not easily classified - it is both a coming of age piece and also a sprawling family drama, concerned with several generations of several Scottish families. This works perfectly fine until the last quarter, where it changes gears and focuses on becoming a mystery. This is the section which I felt made it lose its dreamlike quality by interrupting the meditative ruminations on life and death, which I so enjoyed, and turning into a cat and mouse procedural. While I thought that the ending was ultimately satisfying, I thought that the last section prevented the novel from completely coming together and disturbed its delicate balance which was done so well.
So, is The Crow Road worth reading? Certainly. I can now see why it is considered one of the author's best novels; Iain Banks is a good storyteller who writes well, and despite my gripes with the concluding part (which made me take down one star from the rating) I enjoyed spending time with his characters and was captivated by his story. It's absorbing, full of eccentic characters and situations which are both interesting and charming. It is full of humor resulting from these characters and events, and despite its grim themes its also ultimately uplifting and hopeful. It's world is full of small details which enrich it, and made reading its 500 pages no work at all. It contains moments of beauty which will resonate with all readers:
These were the days of fond promise, when the world was very small and there was still magic in it. He told them stories of the Secret Mountain and the Sound that could be Seen, of the Forest drowned by Sand and the trees that were time-stilled waters; he told them about the Slow Children and the Magic Duvet and the Well-Travelled Country, and they believed all of it. They learned of distant times and long-ago places, of who they were and what they weren’t, and of what had and what had never been. Then, every day was a week, each month a year. A season was a decade, and every year a life. ...more
Karen Thompson Walker reportedly received a million dollar advance for The Age of Miracles, her debut novel - an unimaginable sum for a first work, whKaren Thompson Walker reportedly received a million dollar advance for The Age of Miracles, her debut novel - an unimaginable sum for a first work, which naturally helped spark a considerable interest in it. The six figure advance and the the anticipation reminded me of waiting for Justin Cronin's The Passage - a novel dealing with the fate of the world after an outbreak of a vampire virus. Ultimately, the reactions were mixed - you can read my review here.
While Cronin aimed at reviving the - if you'll forgive the pun - somehow dead vampire theme, Walker gives her work an original and interesting premise. After some inexplicable event, the earth's rotation starts slowing down - days and nights begin to extend, at first almost unnoticeable, but soon affecting the lives of people in a very palpable way. As scorching days and cold nights extend crops begin to fail and people begin to suffer from symptoms which can't be diagnosed to any known disease. This set-up should prove for a more than fertile ground for a fascinating work of speculative fiction - but The Age of Miracles isn't so.
The focus falls on the 11 year old narrator, Julia, who goes through all the troubles of growing up, first crushes and dealing with her parents' troubled marriage, as the earth slows down into a pace which will stretch the days and nights into years, making it uninhabitable. Julia's narration never feels like an 11 year old would think or speak, making the narration seem distant and detached. Since the novel is narrated in the first person, the book feels cold and clinical - there's not much emotion, spontaneity and energy which one would expect from a child narrator. The whole novel seems to want to resemble one of Ray Bradbury's old sci-fi stories (Julie even remembers reading one) but doesn't succeed at it. The science/speculative fiction aspect is reduced to be merely a background for Julia's story, and all the interesting possibilities and ideas are never developed to their full potential. As other reviewers noted, the novel is surprisingly tame - there is preciously little violence and mayhem which would undoubtedly occur among societies as a result of the Slowing, forcing the reader to stretch his suspension of belief even further than necessary. With its PG-13-feel it seems to have been tailored towards younger readers, despite being marketed as a work for adults.
The ending is sudden and unsatisfying, and I was never able to get rid of the feeling that I read just a part of a larger whole - the book as it is feels incomplete. I would rate it around 2,5 stars - certainly not worth a million dollars, as science fiction fans are bound to walk away disappointed and those preferring coming of age stories will find little if anything which they had not read before in this slim and vapid tale. Worth borrowing from a library if it strikes your interest, but just barely.
I discovered Skippy dies through Goodreads and it immediately caught my attention. I love novels dealing with perilous youth and growing up, novels deI discovered Skippy dies through Goodreads and it immediately caught my attention. I love novels dealing with perilous youth and growing up, novels dealing with school and academic life; when I learned that Skippy Dies follows the lives and adventures of a group of teenagers in an Irish boarding school, I was sold. Judging by ratings and reviews I even though that Skippy might enter the great canon of boarding school literature. School stories are a very British thing - they really kicked off after Thomas Hughes published his Tom Brown's Schooldays in 1857, which set the path for future works. Rudyard Kipling published his Stalky & Co in 1899, a collection of stories about the charismatic Stalky and his friends and their life at a boarding school for boys. Stalky marks a departure from the tone set by Hughes in Tom Brown: Tom made trouble every now and then but was basically a decent boy, one who stood up for the underdogs and befriended them, fighting bullies. What he didn't achieve in the classroom he made up for at the playing field. >i>Stalky is far from being sentimental or idealized: it openly presents sadism and bullying as they took place in British boarding school, letting readers peek into the darker side of the institutions which were supposed to protect and educate their children. The boys in Stalky engage in violence and bullying, and are especially cruel to cats. Critics accustomed to Hughes's boyish Tom Brown accused Kipling of not writing about boys, but about ugly little men, little beasts that could have only been dreamed up by a spoiled child made by the utterly brutal public school system. His work was described as vulgar, savage and vile; Cambridge's Concise History of English Literature (published in 1942) summed it up as An unpleasant book about unpleasant boys at an unpleasant school. Today, some readers see Stalky & Co as the only school novel which prepared its readers for real life.
Although they originated and reached popularity in Britain, school stories are not exclusive to the isles. My personal childhood favorite is a series of novels published in my home country of Poland, and written by a man whose work all Polish children are familiar with - Jan Brzechwa. Brzechwa wrote a trilogy of novels about character known as Pan Kleks (Mr. Kleks, with Kleks being Polish for inkblot). Mr. Kleks's name was Ambroży (try pronouncing it) and he was a creator and headmaster of a mysterious and magical Academy, open only for boys whose names begun with the letter "A". The Academy itself is located in an enormous park full of gorges and ravines and is hidden from the outside world with an enormous wall, which is full of doors locked with silver padlocks, and each opens to a new fable...these books have been written after the war, in the 40's and 60's, and to the best of my knowledge have not been translated into English. Which is a total shame - when I read them as a little tyke I thought that the intrigue was stellar and that suspense was through the roof, and that the author's imagination knew no bounds. I'm supposed to be all grown up now and haven't read these books in years - I'm fearful that I'd take the few happy moments of my childhood away if they wouldn't prove to be as fantastical and wonderful as I remembered them.
Brzechwa was the first author whom I read and who thought about mixing the boarding school story with magical elements, but he's certainly not the most popular. In the late 90's a British (surprised?) author named J.K. Rowling single-handedly revived the genre with the first installment in what would be one of the most widely read and appreciated sagas of all time, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Rowling invented the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where she set the adventures of Harry, Ron, Hermione and their friends, and which captured the attention of the whole world, proving enormously successful with readers of all ages. I'm happy for Ms. Rowling's great success as it provided me with many pleasant hours and gave faith to many struggling writers across the globe; but at the same time can't help but be a bit sad for my beloved Jan Brzechwa, whose Mr. Kleks never even got a chance to enchant young readers the way Harry did. He did enchant for me, that he did - and I remember him.
There's a reason why Hogwarts proved to be so popular with young readers. Kids love the idea of living away from their parents and following a completely different set of rules, with the school being an entirely new environment - a whole world - made just for them; they take delight in exploring it, pushing the boundaries and often crossing them, taking their first stabs at questioning authority, fighting it, and discovering what lies beyond. I very well remember the feeling when I realized that my parents made mistakes and bad decisions, and that life in our house was not perfect. I felt that a wall which was surrounding me since birth was cracked, and what was behind it was ugly. I was a very young boy and had lots to learn; I wished to attend a remote school like the boys in Brzechwa's novels did, but I never got the chance. I went through the public school system which Kipling's critics so despised, and like all kids everywhere I had to build my own wall. I'm still building it but then who isn't, and does it ever really stop?
But I digress. Skippy Dies is a boy's book: it's a big, fat book about a group of teenagers in Seabrook College, a Catholic boarding school in Dublin. Although it originally started as a short story, ideas kept popping into the head of Paul Murray and it grew and grew. It took 10 years to write and originally was more than 1000 pages long, but Murray cut it to below 700. Skippy doesn't lie - the title character, Daniel "Skippy" Juster dies at a donut eating contest in the novel's opening scene. Skippy's death is as tragic as it is bizarre: why did Skippy end up dead at the floor of Ed's Doughnut House seen by all other participants? Was he trying to say something to his friends in his last moments? Murray rewinds his book, and for two of its three volumes (Skippy was originally published as a set of three separate paperbacks) takes us through the events leading up to Skippy's death, and then shows us its aftermath on the community of Seabrook.
Skippy, who is a rather passive boy, is just one of Murray's many characters; they're both juvenile young teens and adult teachers of Seabrook, but both groups seem to be equally lost and not sure of their sense of place in the world. One can accuse Murray of employing stereotypical characters but then anyone who has ever attended a school will recognize these boys from the pages: there's Ruprecht Van Doren, an overweight geek obsessed with string theory who wants to open a portal to another dimension; Mario, a teenage Lothario wannabe who carries a condom in his wallet because he's up all night to get lucky; there are also Geoff, Niall and other goofs. There's also Lori, a pupil of the neighboring's school for girls, whom Skippy sees throwing a Frisbee as he looks into Ruprecht's telescope and with whom he falls in love; there's also Carl, a teenage drug dealer and a thug who also has his eyes on her. The adult faculty is also an important part of this story: there's Howard Fallon, a history teacher nicknamed Howard The Coward because of an episode from his past which still haunts him; there's Father Green, the French teacher whose name the boys have translated as "Pere-Vert". Greg Costigan, the acting principal is known as Greg the Automaton because of his heated intention on modernizing what he sees to be a hopelessly dated school.
The two adult female characters, Howard's American girlfriend Halley and the beautiful substitute geography teacher, miss Aurelie McIntyre. Halley seems to merely exist for Howard to slowly realize his disillusionment with the life he leads, while Aurelie seems to be almost mythologized and reduce to being a muse, a golden haired and lovely but ultimately fantastical maiden. To Murray's credit, the teenage Lori is a much better realized character than both adult women; it's a curious incident in what otherwise is a book which paints real attention to portray an extensive cast of varied characters.
There's a lot of juvenile humor in this book (which is genuinely funny, at least for yours truly) but also of juvenile violence and juvenile, terrible cruelty. The boys relentlessly tease one another, harshly and insultingly; they are openly racist to a Vietnamese restaurant owner and take pure pleasure in damaging and disturbing his business and insulting him and his workers. These are things that many young boys - good boys, from good homes, not thugs - do every day, and which we refuse to believe and accept and would just rather brush under the rug. There's a sexual scene which is a homage to the ending section of Ulysses - that breathless pornography. But it also sags and slows down, and shows that while Murray clearly had lots of ideas he doesn't quite know what to do with such a wide array of them and how to organize them into a narrative which wouldn't be helplessly bogged down in certain sections. which then arrive at an ending which ties the lose ends all too neatly. The book shows that it was edited and shortened down; perhaps it would have been more coherent at its full uncut length of 1000 pages? We'll never know.
In his review, Mike calls Skippy a YA novel for adults. Although sounding like a contradiction, this might actually be the best way to describe this novel. It has ideas, it has juveniles, it's not slow but it's not fast, it certainly is not for younger kids but it's certain to wear some adult readers down, and they might not even finish it. It's a very difficult book to rate - in the end I chose to give it four stars, but mostly for the author's ambition and great talent at recapturing the way young boys behave, but not so much for what turned out of his work. Skippy Dies is not bad. It really isn't - but what bothers me is that it could have been great, but lost its real potential somewhere between string theories and fart jokes....more
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