Colson Whitehead's The Underground Railroad is an interesting novel to critique. On the one hand, it's a maudlin, bleak, tragedy, peppered with moments of hope, but ultimately bringing into question the nature of humanity, and a pessimistic semblance of meaning as to why we subject each other to such pain and ambivalence. But on the other hand, those grains of hope and perseverance are what propels the story forward, and that which places Cora on a pedestal next to Hermione Granger-Weasley (I figure she'd be progressive like that).
Banking on expecting the unexpected, Whitehead weaves a startling tale of slavery in America, leaving the reader never knowing if what follows is extreme pain or intense salvation, which is, at it's root, the dormant-come-active volcano of the suppressed. Though in a halting yet poetic prose, Whitehead re-creates a vivid world that can at once, by the educated mind, find parallels to the Native American's plight with the Colonists, to Nazi Occupation, and even so far as the social injustices we experience and witness in present day, rendering this novel a truly timeless tome.
Though widely praised - I first heard about it during the patented-15-second segment on the Today Show - I can understand why some would find this novel depressing and dull, and otherwise confusedly written. Being the first of Whitehead's for me to read, I just assumed this his style, thus reading his words with a slow fluidity. The downside of this, however, was that I couldn't blaze through it like a page-turner, but found myself setting it down every few pages in order to digest the enormity of what I had just read. Even with his vague imagery and lack of direct character interactions, the impact of his story was not lost on me, which - I'm assuming - is the point.
What struck me the most while reading this book was how shockingly familiar it all was, leaving me to really contemplate the illusion of the world we live in, which is why I am of the former opinion, that The Underground Railroad is on par with such classics as To Kill A Mockingbird, Black Like Me (though I didn't enjoy that nearly as much), and Invisible Man. Cora, though unexpectedly, is a real, true hero; a woman of gumption, courage, and though it tries to be beaten from her, a strong sense of self-worth. I applaud and appreciate Whitehead for creating such a character - and female at that - of whom I would be proud to know.
Thursday, June 8, 2017
Saturday, April 15, 2017
The Dollhouse by Fiona Davis
As many a bookworm can attest, naming your favorite book can be almost as complicated and emotional as naming your favorite child. But without warning, Fiona Davis' The Dollhouse rapidly ascends to one of the coveted top spots.
I'll be honest, The Dollhouse was a book I passed on many times over when I saw it at the library, breaking the cardinal rule of reading: judging a book by it's cover. Then a fellow Instragrammer and bibliophile raved about it so my next trip to the library felt like I had hit the jackpot. I wasn't sure what to expect from the book, but I certainly didn't expect it to grab me by my glove-less hand and transport me to a world of propriety, glitz, glam, and gumption. And that I'd never want to leave.
Unlike Donoghue's The Wonder, Davis doesn't utilize any specific writing style to separate her book from any others, but she creates vivid, empathetic characters who we can't decide if we want to be best friends with, or just be period. Darby, Rose, and the gang are so magnetic and charming, the mystery of the plot - which serves to prop up the storyline - is quickly lost to simply wanting to know more about the characters and their lives; like FRIENDS but with more drug rings and alcohol, and less coffee houses and sarcastic one-liners. A story I didn't want to end, I was completely enveloped in the energetic atmosphere, enchanting setting, and the engrossing, expertly intertwining tale.
Written in alternating chapters, which could have muddied the story, Davis ingeniously infuses her tale with blatant label-feminism, and highlights the almost anti-feminist fact that we humans need each other, from the basic food-and-water necessities, to the complexities of navigating a hotel for women in New York City, both in the 1950's and in present-day. Davis expertly tells of what it meant to need a man back then and what it meant to NOT need a man, as well as what it means to need a man in present-day, and how those issues are strikingly different but also shockingly similar. Davis even throws in some sexual identity issues just to make the melting pot even spicier. The elements Davis includes in The Dollhouse are brilliant, from the basic plot backbone, all the way down to the details of a simple spec of spice.
Written in a to-the-point, almost blog-ish way, Davis appropriately and concisely wraps up any loose ends in such a way that is sympathetic to the complex characters, yet isn't stymied by some horrific, just-for-the-sake-of-drama tragedy that would sully the actors or setting. So while the mystery added a fragrant twist, the spicy characters and the peppery plot were able to stand on their own. As an avid bookworm, I'm excited to see what Fiona Davis comes up with next...
Sunday, March 5, 2017
The Wonder by Emma Donoghue
For some reason - even for authors I can't get enough of - I am of the mindset that once an author publishes a "New York Times Bestseller," that's it; they're done. Like the Tubthumping of novels. So I was equally surprised to not only discover that Emma Donoghue - of Room fame - had released a new novel, but that it was added to none other than Reese Witherspoon's Book Club. Sorry, Oprah; your's is so 90's. Room, with it's unique viewpoint yet not-so-unique storyline, left me with author trepidation, much like some people feel for Gillian Flynn. But after I read the premise of The Wonder - a young girl who is believed to subsist on little else than water and thin air for four-plus months - oh, there was no question I had to read this book, Reese Witherspoon recommendation aside (but that definitely helped).
Though an avid reader, the history of the Fasting Girls - known throughout Europe in the 19th Century - is a subject matter I was/am not at all familiar with. And while Donoghue's novel is mainly fiction, it is exquisitely researched and effectively communicated. The language and stilted prose have a tendency to muddy the scenes, but overall adds to the experience of reading the story. And Donoghue's electric, deeply troubled characters lend credence to a tale that could just as easily sore on its own merits.
This story, so deeply rooted in pious faith, is at times both blasphemous and devout; where the lines between dutiful faith and obvious logic simultaneously strengthen and blur; when God leads us to where miracles and science co-exist for the whole of mankind. A true testament to a young mind's devotion to her God and family, Anna - The Wonder - teaches Nurse Lib not only of the pitfalls, but also the restoration, of faith, and how it can happen to the most unlikely among us. Reminiscent of Unholy Night, The Wonder not only spotlights that often evil is done under the cloak of religion, but that faith is also the safety net when there is nothing left, which, more often than not, means using the tools God has already given us.
Told with an abrupt, stoic, bitter tone, none of the characters are particularly likable but all are somewhat relatable and make us question what we would do in Lib's position; or the mother's; or Anna's; or the doctor's; or even the priest's. Stunning, gripping, horrifying, and enigmatic, Donoghue's story is brilliantly executed and effectively constructed, and is one of those rare reads sure to spark discussions among book clubs and college courses the world over.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
The Heart You Need by Diane R. Jewkes
It's hard to believe that during my thus far lustrous reading career that I could encounter anymore "firsts" when it comes to books. But alas, I have; and for a few different reasons. First, The Heart You Need by Diane R. Jewkes was my first foray into e-reading. Second - and perhaps even harder to believe - Jewkes' foray into Historical Romance was my first of this particular genre, which was coupled with yet another first - being approached and asked to read this specific book in exchange for an honest review. So while Historical Romance with a Sensual classification isn't a section of the library I will find myself in very often, Jewkes, with her multifaceted characters, intriguing story lines, and impeccable research, just might have me going back.
Set against the backdrop of San Francisco on the cusp of becoming one of the world's most formidable cities, we meet Adeline - Linnie - who is a formidable woman in her own right. Using her job as a Society columnist, Linnie repeatedly straddles the boundaries between proper decorum and family loyalty, but not without the help of new companions, Alec, Kara, and Hawke. In her characters, Jewkes expertly crafts a cast who are both likable and relatable, but also highly emotionally-charged, while managing to avoid being overly dramatic. With exquisite, clear imagery, Romantic prose, and artful metaphors, Jewkes pays homage not only to the budding romance of Linnie and Alec, but also to the beauty of the budding West.
Alec, thanks to the talents of Ms. Jewkes, is a splendid character who is not only strong, stubborn, and sometimes boorish, but skillfully sexual and ruggedly romantic. On business from Scotland, he meets Linnie in the most obscure way and soon finds himself enraptured by her penchant for moving a mile a minute; one moment she's there, then another she's gone, at least until she's wrapped in Alec's broad arms. But while we can appreciate this particular facet of Linnie, the execution and transfer of the scenes can sometimes be a bit rocky and sudden. Nevertheless, Jewkes employs her charismatic characters to steer the story into very intriguing places.
As a storyteller, Jewkes is an exceptional writer, creating clear, concise plot movement, and her meticulous use of metaphors is on point. Her sex scenes are cigarette worthy, and she expertly gives us a twist in the story without waxing poetic or using unnecessary filler. Reminiscent of a Hallmark Channel movie or mini-series, The Heart You Need provides just enough danger and violence to keep you turning the page, but not so much so that you can't read the book late at night. However, while Jewkes skillfully and appropriately ties up the loose ends, one pivotal plot point remains unanswered, which - given that this is her second novel in what I can only assume will be a lustrous literary career - may pave the way for a companion novel or sequel. Jewkes skilled linkage of each character and story - a la Thomas Kinkade - can only lead to more novels starring this magnetic cast.
All in all, I couldn't have chosen a better novel to steal my e-reading virginity than The Heart You Need. Well thought-out, exceptionally researched, and exquisitely emotional, Jewkes' talent can only get better from here. When she eventually stands with Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel, and Stella Cameron, I can say I knew her when...
Friday, August 5, 2016
California by Eden Lepucki
Sometimes it feels like divine destiny when certain books enter into our lives, what I shall hereto forth refer to as "book-estiny." Or maybe it just seems that way to us over-analytical, bibliophile, Virgo types, but after reading Eden Lepucki's California, "book-estiny" is the only way to describe my interaction with this compelling, gripping, thought-provoking, haunting peek at a very real near future.
I first heard about California back in 2014 when it was a New Release and Lepucki stopped by The Colbert Report on her book tour. I don't remember any part of the interview but I accept any and all book recommendations, especially from one of my favorite TV personalities. I picked it up cheap with an Amazon gift card then it sat on my shelf for the next two years. Although California would have been as equally relatable back in 2014 as it is now, with the recent death of the Occupy Wall Street movement that's only accomplishment was the degradation of millennials, it couldn't possibly have predicted the political tide of the 2016 Presidential election. Or could/did it?
What could have easily been a cheesy, overly-dramatic homage to what could very well be our near future, is actually quite frightening when you realize it was written two years ago and you suddenly have flashbacks to reading 1984. But rather than distinguish an obvious hero and villain - the winners and loser of the last several years, if you will - Lepucki artfully crafts a desolate and untamed world in which everyone loses under the guise of victory and supreme rule (*cough* President Trump *cough, cough*). And although the story and landscape scream of apocalyptic end-times, it is actually only the result of a political apocalypse skillfully detailed by Lepucki as the best and worst principles to be born from any modern-day revolution. So while California may have gotten lost in the sea of Fifty Shades of Grey and Game of Thrones, Lepucki's startling portrayal of a world controlled by fear would make for excellent discussion material in any University Sociology course. While that was mostly what propelled me through this book, it wasn't why I picked it up in the first place, thus divine book-estiny.
A few years ago I wanted to spend the summer reading non-fiction and now it's become habit; I find the season to be synonymous with WWII and getting lost in the jungle, thus I admit to committing the cardinal book sin of judging California by its cover.
There was very little jungle-roaming involved, nor was it a theme or anything Lepucki put any sort of focus on aside from describing the ravaged LA now-countryside. What did stand out for me, however, was the many possible ways to analytically dissect this novel. Like, the impact children have on a society, both biologically and in terms of culture, and how they alter our perceptions, reality, and the combining of the two; or the fundamentals of each prominent ideology and why no one idea is the perfect formula for a Utopian society; or how and why there is no such thing as a Utopian society, and that despite a revolution, history still has more to teach us, most importantly that we will always rely on each other if our species is to survive. But in spite of all of this, the book as a whole lacked structure and offered very little incentive for the reader to keep going.
I noted early on that although I didn't "feel" the usual "click," I did find myself blindly moving through the book, similar to the way Cal and Frida moved through their daily existence. But while they asked very little questions, I asked many, especially when the book neared the end and it became clear Lepucki had no intentions of wrapping everything up a nice, happy ending. It is hard to determine if she had aspirations of a sequel, or if she just realized that in order to wrap each story up in a nice, little ending package she'd need to write at least 100 more pages and just decided to quit instead. Or maybe that is the final lesson she is trying to teach us - that cycles will continue in the face of insanity; doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results no matter how much planning is involved.
While the lessons gleaned from California abound both in 2014 and in present-day, I felt the hitting to be too close to home, and as much doom and gloom as watching the news. It's possible I might have felt differently had I read the book two years ago but, like 1984, this book will probably always find a way to be culturally relevant.
Book-estiny.
I first heard about California back in 2014 when it was a New Release and Lepucki stopped by The Colbert Report on her book tour. I don't remember any part of the interview but I accept any and all book recommendations, especially from one of my favorite TV personalities. I picked it up cheap with an Amazon gift card then it sat on my shelf for the next two years. Although California would have been as equally relatable back in 2014 as it is now, with the recent death of the Occupy Wall Street movement that's only accomplishment was the degradation of millennials, it couldn't possibly have predicted the political tide of the 2016 Presidential election. Or could/did it?
What could have easily been a cheesy, overly-dramatic homage to what could very well be our near future, is actually quite frightening when you realize it was written two years ago and you suddenly have flashbacks to reading 1984. But rather than distinguish an obvious hero and villain - the winners and loser of the last several years, if you will - Lepucki artfully crafts a desolate and untamed world in which everyone loses under the guise of victory and supreme rule (*cough* President Trump *cough, cough*). And although the story and landscape scream of apocalyptic end-times, it is actually only the result of a political apocalypse skillfully detailed by Lepucki as the best and worst principles to be born from any modern-day revolution. So while California may have gotten lost in the sea of Fifty Shades of Grey and Game of Thrones, Lepucki's startling portrayal of a world controlled by fear would make for excellent discussion material in any University Sociology course. While that was mostly what propelled me through this book, it wasn't why I picked it up in the first place, thus divine book-estiny.
A few years ago I wanted to spend the summer reading non-fiction and now it's become habit; I find the season to be synonymous with WWII and getting lost in the jungle, thus I admit to committing the cardinal book sin of judging California by its cover.
There was very little jungle-roaming involved, nor was it a theme or anything Lepucki put any sort of focus on aside from describing the ravaged LA now-countryside. What did stand out for me, however, was the many possible ways to analytically dissect this novel. Like, the impact children have on a society, both biologically and in terms of culture, and how they alter our perceptions, reality, and the combining of the two; or the fundamentals of each prominent ideology and why no one idea is the perfect formula for a Utopian society; or how and why there is no such thing as a Utopian society, and that despite a revolution, history still has more to teach us, most importantly that we will always rely on each other if our species is to survive. But in spite of all of this, the book as a whole lacked structure and offered very little incentive for the reader to keep going.
While the lessons gleaned from California abound both in 2014 and in present-day, I felt the hitting to be too close to home, and as much doom and gloom as watching the news. It's possible I might have felt differently had I read the book two years ago but, like 1984, this book will probably always find a way to be culturally relevant.
Book-estiny.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Turn Right at Machu Picchu by Mark Adams
Some are intent on traveling the world. And some are not.
But thanks goes to those who are, for they pave a path of enlightenment, education, spirituality, and desire for the rest of us to gaze at, admire, and add to our Bucket List. While exploration is not a new phenomenon - the greatest discoveries have been made simply from the desire to see what lies beyond the horizon - the means and ways of world travel has dramatically evolved. These days, even the most remote forests, desolate mountain ranges, and raging rivers will find what Mark Adams' travel companion in Turn Right at Machu Picchu referred to as "Martini Explorers" - those looking to see the world but still have a warm bed and even warmer meal to return to. In Machu Picchu, Adams falls somewhere in between - lacking the intensity and adventure (and stupidity) of Theodore Roosevelt and his River of Doubt while still suffering the worn shoes, blisters, interesting cuisine, camping, and life-or-death uncertainty of any serious trip into the wilderness. And while the world would have me believe that I'm wasting my life by not scrambling to see all of the Seven Wonders of the World, I'm perfectly happy to let people like Adams, Roosevelt, and Strayed (Wild) do the humping and provide me with exquisite imagery and history, both of which Adams did not skimp on.
With discovery comes more questions, a problem that seemed to be the central theme of Turn Right at Machu Picchu. Adams' original intent was to retrace the steps of 1911's Hiram Bingham, III, suddenly widely discredited for discovering the ancient ruins, then accused of grave-robbing them as well as the area's surrounding ruins. While attempting to clear up Bingham's story, Adams instead encountered an atmosphere much like if he were to ask an American about the upcoming election - everyone has an opinion and their own theory. Adams peppers Peruvian history appropriately throughout his story, though it can get bit meaty and tough for the reader to digest.
Written like one of the more sophisticated blogs of present-day, with several laugh-out-loud moments, Turn Right at Machu Picchu is more an account of Adams taking a history lesson than a raucous journey of exploration, routinely skipping over large chunks of time presumably because nothing particularly noteworthy happened. Only him and his Editor will ever know... And while Adams does an admirable job of detailing his surroundings at any given moment, he struggles to articulate the vast beauty and enormity of his experience, which the reader can either find frustrating or titillating. And although nothing about this book is edge-of-your-seat excitement like that of Frozen In Time or Lost in Shangri-La, the cultural and historical significance of this part of the world is not lost, but rather put on display, as Adams made the Inca Trail sound like the line for Disneyland's Splash Mountain.
This book's main takeaway is the awe-inspiring history of the Incas and how they unknowingly ended up impacting the rest of the world with unrelenting beauty, seemingly ingenious engineering, and the marriage of the two, something Adams described impeccably and seemed to put the most focus on. If nothing else, he definitely lights the fire under the ass of even the most reticent modern-day explorer.
Turn Right at Machu Picchu satisfied a square on my all-important Reading Bingo chart, thus solidifying my Couch Explorer status. But if they ever do bring martinis on explorations and possible discoveries, my travel-ass might just end up being lit. Until then, happy hiking! I can't wait to read about it when you're done...
But thanks goes to those who are, for they pave a path of enlightenment, education, spirituality, and desire for the rest of us to gaze at, admire, and add to our Bucket List. While exploration is not a new phenomenon - the greatest discoveries have been made simply from the desire to see what lies beyond the horizon - the means and ways of world travel has dramatically evolved. These days, even the most remote forests, desolate mountain ranges, and raging rivers will find what Mark Adams' travel companion in Turn Right at Machu Picchu referred to as "Martini Explorers" - those looking to see the world but still have a warm bed and even warmer meal to return to. In Machu Picchu, Adams falls somewhere in between - lacking the intensity and adventure (and stupidity) of Theodore Roosevelt and his River of Doubt while still suffering the worn shoes, blisters, interesting cuisine, camping, and life-or-death uncertainty of any serious trip into the wilderness. And while the world would have me believe that I'm wasting my life by not scrambling to see all of the Seven Wonders of the World, I'm perfectly happy to let people like Adams, Roosevelt, and Strayed (Wild) do the humping and provide me with exquisite imagery and history, both of which Adams did not skimp on.
With discovery comes more questions, a problem that seemed to be the central theme of Turn Right at Machu Picchu. Adams' original intent was to retrace the steps of 1911's Hiram Bingham, III, suddenly widely discredited for discovering the ancient ruins, then accused of grave-robbing them as well as the area's surrounding ruins. While attempting to clear up Bingham's story, Adams instead encountered an atmosphere much like if he were to ask an American about the upcoming election - everyone has an opinion and their own theory. Adams peppers Peruvian history appropriately throughout his story, though it can get bit meaty and tough for the reader to digest.
Written like one of the more sophisticated blogs of present-day, with several laugh-out-loud moments, Turn Right at Machu Picchu is more an account of Adams taking a history lesson than a raucous journey of exploration, routinely skipping over large chunks of time presumably because nothing particularly noteworthy happened. Only him and his Editor will ever know... And while Adams does an admirable job of detailing his surroundings at any given moment, he struggles to articulate the vast beauty and enormity of his experience, which the reader can either find frustrating or titillating. And although nothing about this book is edge-of-your-seat excitement like that of Frozen In Time or Lost in Shangri-La, the cultural and historical significance of this part of the world is not lost, but rather put on display, as Adams made the Inca Trail sound like the line for Disneyland's Splash Mountain.
This book's main takeaway is the awe-inspiring history of the Incas and how they unknowingly ended up impacting the rest of the world with unrelenting beauty, seemingly ingenious engineering, and the marriage of the two, something Adams described impeccably and seemed to put the most focus on. If nothing else, he definitely lights the fire under the ass of even the most reticent modern-day explorer.
Turn Right at Machu Picchu satisfied a square on my all-important Reading Bingo chart, thus solidifying my Couch Explorer status. But if they ever do bring martinis on explorations and possible discoveries, my travel-ass might just end up being lit. Until then, happy hiking! I can't wait to read about it when you're done...
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
The Burning Air by Erin Kelly
Every once in awhile I find myself in the mood for a good mind fuck. Usually when I'm in a particularly dark mood, I find myself gravitating towards books of a similar theme, like when I picked up Gillian Flynn's Dark Places. Although I felt the pull of that in the dead of January, I found myself craving a Gone Girl-esque book in the dead of summer so I picked up Erin Kelly's The Burning Air, a book I took a chance on because it was on the Dollar Tree bookshelf so I couldn't justify *not* buying it. After reading the inside flap and the goodreads.com synopsis, my expectations were fairly low and I thought I had it all figured out, not at all prepared for Kelly to take me on the literary ride of my life.
Kelly's The Burning Air is in a word, brilliant. Having read Gone Girl, the epitome of psychological thriller, and having polished off last summer's literary pop culture hit, and soon-to-be-movie-produced-by-Reese-Witherspoon, The Girl on the Train, I naively had little hope that another author would be able to weave such an intricate, creepy, and dark tale about the lengths we go to for family. But I am now willing to start my own campaign to add this to Reese's long list of projects. Or at least make it a Lifetime movie.
Split into four points of view, Kelly subjects the reader to movie-like, heart-pumping, surprise scenes - like a white face reflected through a black window - from the get-go. Banking on the already large creep-factor of being set in a BFE London barn, readers start out on the edge of their seats and have little elsewhere to go until they take a break from reading to let their hearts begin to still. With any large family, secrets are what rule the MacBrides, who are coming together to spread the ashes of their matriarch. Of course, things go less than smoothly and what are originally perceived to be horrible coincidences are revealed as dark, vengeful spirits working like puppet masters behind the scenes.
Written clearly and concisely, with fluid details that are rarely confusing, Kelly creates a haunting and sinister world that gives us goosebumps and makes our blood run cold, but manages to steer clear of horrifically gruesomely, unnecessary violence. The Burning Air enters Kelly into the foray of stiff competition among Stephen King and other Masters of the Plot Twist, gently manipulating readers' brains and down-right tricking them, then offering one last surprise on the second-to-final page.
While Far Barn is definitely not a place I'd like to visit - nor the MacBrides a family I'd like to befriend - this Couch Explorer will definitely visit another dark world created by Erin Kelly.
Kelly's The Burning Air is in a word, brilliant. Having read Gone Girl, the epitome of psychological thriller, and having polished off last summer's literary pop culture hit, and soon-to-be-movie-produced-by-Reese-Witherspoon, The Girl on the Train, I naively had little hope that another author would be able to weave such an intricate, creepy, and dark tale about the lengths we go to for family. But I am now willing to start my own campaign to add this to Reese's long list of projects. Or at least make it a Lifetime movie.
Split into four points of view, Kelly subjects the reader to movie-like, heart-pumping, surprise scenes - like a white face reflected through a black window - from the get-go. Banking on the already large creep-factor of being set in a BFE London barn, readers start out on the edge of their seats and have little elsewhere to go until they take a break from reading to let their hearts begin to still. With any large family, secrets are what rule the MacBrides, who are coming together to spread the ashes of their matriarch. Of course, things go less than smoothly and what are originally perceived to be horrible coincidences are revealed as dark, vengeful spirits working like puppet masters behind the scenes.
Written clearly and concisely, with fluid details that are rarely confusing, Kelly creates a haunting and sinister world that gives us goosebumps and makes our blood run cold, but manages to steer clear of horrifically gruesomely, unnecessary violence. The Burning Air enters Kelly into the foray of stiff competition among Stephen King and other Masters of the Plot Twist, gently manipulating readers' brains and down-right tricking them, then offering one last surprise on the second-to-final page.
While Far Barn is definitely not a place I'd like to visit - nor the MacBrides a family I'd like to befriend - this Couch Explorer will definitely visit another dark world created by Erin Kelly.
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