"The Martian" Andy Weir - Book Review

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Plenty well enough has been said about this story (and its pending film) already. By the time I received the book for Christmas in 2014 (at which time I had never heard of it), it was already quite a phenomenon. With that in mind, here are a few thoughts anyway.

First of all, the publishing history of how this book came to be in its current form is an interesting story itself. This can be heard firsthand by Andy Weir over at the Inquiring Minds podcast—great interview, too. I must confess, I love to hear these “success stories” from indie authors who simply write something because it brings them joy, then they gain an online following that they weren't even trying for, then end up releasing something to universal acclaim. Hugh Howey comes to mind.

As to the quality of the writing in The Martian, it leaves a bit to be desired. Without meaning to sound condescending, it reads exactly like it what it is: a fictional narrative written by an engineer who could out-quiz the lot of us under the table. It is clunky in places, corny in even more places, and much of the character dialogue consists of typical, familiar tropes. Despite these things, Weir manages to pull off what is ultimately a well-paced and -developed plot, even if his phrasing is nothing original and his characters are fairly cookie-cutter apart from Mark Watney himself.

Watney is, for the most part, an enjoyable character (if corny at times), and I think he probably had to be a fun character for all the lengthy passages of oration detailing mathematical and scientific processes. Were he flat, many readers would probably give up by Page 20. Reviewers have praised the humor in this book, although to my ear it came off as eye-rollingly bad in places, chock-full of the worst pun-fodder your dad could ever come up with. But at least the author was breaking up the monotony that could have come from so many explanatory sections describing Watney's many survival tasks. Also, it will be interesting to see how much of the humor makes it into Ridley Scott's film, as Matt Damon may be just the actor who can pull off the sort of deadpan delivery to make such cheesy lines believable.

I found the most intriguing part of the book to be the lengthy descriptions of Mark's farming, repairing the HAB, regenerating water for himself, and all the hundreds of other things he must do to survive on Mars. From reading other reviews, I believe I am in the majority with this opinion. To the layman (referring to myself here), there is something so utterly foreign and fascinating about these space and physics concepts that Watney encounters, and it is even more mind-blowing to recognize that there are thousands of people working on these very things every day. The mark of Weir's writing talent comes through in that he was able to explain extremely complicated processes in such a straightforward, easy-to-follow way. And, goodness sakes, do some of them sound exhausting. There is a reason only a select few out of billions were ever destined to become astronauts.

In all, The Martian was an enjoyable read, even if it is not necessarily great literature (and granted, it has never claimed to be). What you'll get is a fast-moving space thriller surrounding a nugget of scientific research that is entertaining and—so the experts say—pretty close to accurate (or as close to it as Weir could get).

-D.G.

Flight of the Blue Falcon - Jonathan Raab

Flight of the Blue Falcon will be released July 1, 2015 through The War Writer's Campaign. Pre-order it now from Amazon.com at this link.

I am not the sort of person who would normally read a novel about war, the army, American politics, etc. Those things do not interest me, nor have I ever cared to know much about them. However, this book is, at its heart, about none of those things—not really—but rather about people (three men, to be precise) in the midst of absurd, yet nonetheless true circumstances going on in our modern day military.

The author is a friend, and there is inevitably a loaded quality that goes along with reading a friend's work. There is a desire to view the book objectively and be fair, but be honest at the same time. This book has its issues and probably could have been shortened a good deal, but still I found myself getting lost in the experiences of the characters and the intimate individual moments of certain chapters. At times, the quality of Raab's writing took over and suddenly it was as if I was right there in the dust next to Private Rench, Staff Sergeant Halderman, and Second Lieutenant Gracie. He has a talent both for environmental detail and the occasional straight to the heart sort of honesty about the human experience that often took me by surprise.

Flight of the Blue Falcon has an overarching thread, but is structured in an episodic manner, jumping between the three main characters' perspectives, and each chapter serving almost as its own stand-alone slice of life. This works both to the book's favor and sometimes to its detriment. While some chapters are fascinating for the unbelievable events they describe or interesting because of the depth of their human emotional charge, others tend to drag. That said, there were more than a few that left me dumbfounded and authentically moved. This book has both comedy and tragedy, and often those polar qualities are interwoven with each other.

Perhaps the most intriguing thing about this novel is the account of the war experience itself. As the rear cover of the book boldly states, “WAR IS STUPID,” and as this story shows us, it most certainly is. What is most impressive about this theme is the way Raab is able to present it with a completely apolitical stance. Flight of the Blue Falcon is neither preachy nor shoving the values of one political party in our faces under the false guise of “Literature,” it is merely presenting to the reader what really goes on (from the author's firsthand experience, by the way).

There were things in this book that shocked me and made me shake my head, both in disgust and in despair. And it is these mindless, insane, don't-ask-just-do-it circumstances through which the three protagonists of the novel must trudge. They are angry, confused, floating along through the hot, dusty days, often with uncertain purpose for why they are there at all. They are soldiers, and yet even more-so, they are just regular guys, doing what any of us would do in their boots: try to keep it together for another day.

I imagine that those who have served our military may find this book especially enjoyable; cathartic, in a way, and oddly comforting. Raab calls out the B.S. of the current military system, a broken machine that countless Americans have no doubt endured. The reader comes out the other end feeling chewed-up, spit out, and disoriented right along with the main characters, unsure of what they just did or whether it had any real purpose, yet also somehow glad for having made the journey.

Flight of the Blue Falcon is set to release July 1, 2015 through The War Writer's Campaign. Pre-order it now from Amazon at this link.

-D.G.

"The Sound and the Fury" William Faulkner - Book Review

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I had been meaning to read this book for ten years, and it took me three tries to finally do so.

My first attempt was in early high school around age sixteen—by choice, not as an AP English class requirement as some probably had it forced upon them—and while at the time I found the first section (Benjy's narrative) to be riveting and beautiful, I was probably too young and immature to appreciate the notoriously challenging second section which involves Quentin's stream-of-consciousness college experience. I got burnt out on this section and moved on.

The second time around was roughly a year ago, only a few days after my daughter was born—NEWSFLASH: wrong time to read a novel that requires significant focus. Again, loved the first part, became overwhelmed by section two.

A few weeks back—older, (maybe) wiser, and equipped with some meager level of higher reading comprehension—I picked it up again and found myself captivated, flying through it. There are not many books to which I would give three chances. One shot, maybe two, is normally sufficient for me to know if I'm going to like something or not. Granted, in this case the issue was not a question of the book being good or bad, but me not being in the right time of life and mindset to handle it well. And that first section kept me coming back. If you've not read the book, it's really something special.

At its heart, The Sound and the Fury is the story of people; some of them despicable, some of them tragic and painfully sad, but all of them vividly real. The only other author I have read whose characters seem to have actual heartbeats is John Steinbeck, and of course he and Faulkner both made the process of writing authentic humans seem effortless. The dialogue comes easy and often seems irrelevant (though rarely is when it comes to Faulkner), but the beauty is in the way it rolls along in the natural and imperfect way that we actually speak.

Faulkner was writing in an era when use of the N-word was rampant (used mostly by the more wretched White characters in this case and framed in a clearly negative, derogatory context) and he frequently uses phonetics in his characters' dialogue, but from this perspective, roughly 85 years since it was published, these elements give a richer and perhaps more accurate presentation of the time, terrible and racist though it was. He writes the 1910's and 20's of the South with all its yellow dusty grit and shabbiness while keeping the sad and depraved attitudes of men of the era on display.

The story of the decline of the once-prosperous Compson family is told through four main voices (and perhaps a few others that sneak in from time to time); Benjamin, or Benjy, the mentally disabled man who is the youngest of the four Compson siblings; Quentin, the tortured and melancholy second-oldest attending Harvard; Jason Compson III—an absolute bastard—the oldest male and inheritor or his dead father's household; and Dilsey, the aging black female servant to the Compsons who also raised the children.

The narrative jumps between a number of different unspecified timelines, often with no warning except that some of these switches are in italic font. Each of the four main narrators can be unreliable, as they are presenting certain events from their own perspective and (possibly skewed) memory. Bits and pieces of others' dialogue cut in, sometimes dropping the reader in the middle of a sentence, and it is not always immediately clear who is speaking, or to whom. I personally found that the best method for reading this novel was to not get too caught up in trying to figure out what was what or keep it all in my head from these convoluted passages, but simply to keep moving forward and eventually context or further revealed information brings clarity to what is happening on the whole. This process is fascinating and infuriating at once, but I must say it makes for a unique reading experience.

This book is brimming with wordplay, double meanings, and irony, and I guarantee I only picked up on a small fraction of all that is probably there to be found. Faulkner's mastery as an author is on full display, and it is a wonder how a person could write a novel of this scope and complication without getting twisted up in their mind and going crazy. But again, it isn't worth reading just because it is a unique literary challenge, the strength of the novel is clearest in the realness of the characters.

This is already a modern classic, so you should hardly need my recommendation. There is incredible value and insight to be taken from some of these "older" books. So take the time, make the effort, read some Faulkner. I think you'll come out the other end enlightened.

-D.G.

"Gateways to Abomination" Matthew M. Bartlett - Book Review

"If it bleeds, it's Leeds."

These days, it's tough to be scary.

We as a culture have become largely desensitized to horror in every form. We've seen the human body creatively mutilated in every possible which-way, witnessed the exorcisms of so many fictional females we can't even keep their names straight anymore, and watched enough knife or chainsaw wielding psychopaths plunge their instruments into flesh to last us a lifetime. Each of these elements of horror (and many others) can certainly be executed well (heh heh), but how many of these movies or books are just a cheap scare, and how many of them are sticking with us for good? How many of them are keeping us up at night, worried about what might make its way through the darkened door of our bedroom? When was the last time you watched or read something that really shook you up?

For me, the answers to these questions would be Matthew M. Bartlett's bizarre collection of loosely-connected flash fiction and short stories, Gateways to Abomination. Never have I encountered so many completely insane ideas in one volume. Bartlett is a madman, and to the benefit of his readers.

It is difficult to articulate exactly what is so captivating about this collection. The stories are brief and written in a minimalist style. They serve more like snapshots of crazy happenings in individuals' lives than drawn out stories with developed characters, though that is not to say any of them feel lazily-crafted or incomplete. Quite the opposite. Every sentence feels intentional and tight.

Bartlett's vocabulary is grisly and consistent in tone, as if each descriptive word was chosen for the express purpose of making the reader as uncomfortable as possible. What struck me was that as gruesome and disturbing as some of the scenes in this book are, they do not feel like cheap-shots for the biggest gross-out; this is not splatterpunk by any means. The scenarios Bartlett comes up with make one feel as if they are getting a peek behind the curtain of the universe, and what is to be found there is nearly enough to break the mind.

As I mentioned, the stories are loosely connected in a thematic sense. They all exist within the same universe (in fact, the same city), characters and locations will show up in numerous stories, and what is the deal with this Ben Stockton fellow? Read it and you'll know what I mean. Between the stories, Uncle Red read's 'To-Day's News,' describing horrific and impossible happenings around the local area. Intermixed into the stories are bizarre radio broadcasts, always from WXXT, coming to you from Leeds, Massachusetts.

While the whole collection is worth reading (though maybe only one or two in a sitting; wouldn't want to lose your mind, after all), the stories that really got my goat were Pharaoh, When I Was A Boy—A Broadcast, The House in the Woods, The Theories of Uncle Jeb, The Leech, and The Arrival Parts I & II.

If you're a fan of horror in any form, do yourself a favor and buy this already. Walk into the woods. Follow the dark figure. Turn up your radio.

-D.G.

"Revival" Stephen King - Book Review

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Revival is the life-spanning story of Jamie Morton and his “fifth business,” Pastor Charles Jacobs (who goes by a number of names throughout the book). The story opens with Jamie as a six year old boy, and closes with him in his late fifties. Pastor Jacobs is a friendly, vibrant young man with a passionate interest in all things electricity who is newly-hired as a preacher in Jamie's small town. While their first interactions are pleasant—even profound—Jamie and Charles run into each other a number of other times (and under vastly different circumstances) throughout the book.

I had some trouble getting interested in this book until roughly 100 pages in when Jamie's music career begins. The childhood portion of his story is in many ways sweet, but feels a bit rushed on the character development. In fact, I would say that this book had a rushed feel about it overall, at least rushed by King's usual standards, as he is so known for lengthy (and excellent) character development in earlier works. Scenes and people breeze past in Revival before the reader gets much of a chance to get a solid feel for them, and something about it feels underdeveloped.

(Mild plot spoilers from this point on:) The strongest section of the book by far is the middle third when Jamie Morton becomes interested in playing guitar, picking up his brother's dusty ax on a whim and finding he is more or less a natural. Once he begins playing with various bands in high school and beyond, there are some great passages lusciously describing the experience of performing live music and all that goes with it: shaky nerves, the thrill of applause, impressing cute girls in the crowd, etc. Jamie primarily plays in cover bands, and King goes to the trouble to mention quite a few specific bands and songs from the fifties and sixties (some nostalgia on his part, no doubt) that they perform, which only adds to the liveliness of these passages. To top this all off, Jamie develops a serious drug problem which makes for a more enthralling read.

The section following Jamie's music career (but before the big climax) is only mildly interesting. Jamie is growing older and acquires a job at a recording studio/ranch in Nederland, Colorado. Jacobs is now a traveling tent revival preacher with nationwide hype. He travels from city to city and apparently “heals” people with his secret and powerful electricity inventions. There are some fun moments here (like the over-the-top charismatic religious language), but the healing reverend concept feels like something we've seen before.

(SEVERE spoilers, this paragraph only:) Some King readers have taken issue with the big finish to Revival, as it was perceived by many to be a rather random left-turn. The idea of a secret, terrifying “behind-the-curtain” world of damnation and slavery for all mankind at the hands (claws?) of ant-like beasts accessed by means of Jacobs' “secret electricity” seemed to some like a bit of a stretch. I admit, there are hardly any indications earlier in the book that it is leading anywhere remotely supernatural (which, granted, preserves the element of surprise), other than the indication that the electrical force Jacobs has tapped into may have some spiritual or otherworldly origins. The ending reminded me somewhat of the ending to Under the Dome, if only for its completely unexpected turn and inexplicable, there-are-things-bigger-than-us-in-the-universe quality. There is also a definite nod to the works and universe of H.P. Lovecraft (of whom King has been a lifelong fan), specifically the mention towards the end of “The Great Ones.”

Personally, I liked the ending, zany though it was. I'm always up for a batshit crazy conclusion. However, this ending almost feels like a random weird conclusion just for the sake of weirdness. The book builds and builds, but it is almost as if King didn't know how to end it in a logical way, so he threw in some Crazy. That's an unfair criticism, I confess. Maybe King had this particular ending in mind the whole time, and the book is simply imbalanced. But again, that is not to say it is, on the whole, bad.

Still, anyone claiming that Revival is 'KING'S TRIUMPHANT RETURN TO TRUE HORROR, WITH THE CLASSIC QUALITY OF HIS EARLIER WORKS!' is just a yes-man or -woman who is going to put five stars on anything the man puts out.

Revival isn't great, but neither is it crap. In my view, a middling King book is still at the same level of quality as a very good book from any other writer. The man is a genius, but even the masters write a dud here and there.

-D.G.

P.S. I did catch a few minor links to The Dark Tower series. There are several mentions of a red race car stenciled on the side with the number 19. Also, I believe the band name Jamie plays with for the longest amount of time, "Chrome Roses," is also a passing reference to TDK universe. 

"Gone Girl" Gillian Flynn - Book Review

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There is enough hype surrounding this novel that has already come and gone that the world hardly needs yet another voice volunteering comment. Many who skipped over the book have probably seen Fincher's film by this point (BECAUSE THEY JUST LOVED GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO BLAAEEHEHRRG), so Gone Girl might be, to some, very much 'last year's news,' or even, '2012's news.'

That said, I picked up a like-new copy at a thrift store for fifty cents in December—at which time I knew very little about the story other than that it was some sort of mystery and had appeared on zillions of “Best of” lists in 2012—and felt compelled to give it a shot. I stepped into the story blessedly spoiler-free, more by glad happenstance than intention.

Frankly, I can be a bit of an ass when it comes to popular media. Simply put: if something (a book, a movie, an album, a TV show, etc.) gets huge attention and almost universal praise, I tend to stay away from it because: see previous sentence. Something strange clicks on in my brain when I see something heralded over and over, and I (arrogantly) assume that people only love said thing because it must be so watered down that it appeals to the lowest common denominator.

This Gaines fellow is a regular pompous asshole! Why is he telling me this in the middle of a Gone Girl review?

Anyway, all of the useless banter above was to lead to this: I absolutely loved Gone Girl, as much as one can love a story that is horrific in nature. This may sound like an exaggeration, but it's one of the strongest, most tightly-crafted pieces of writing I have read in a long time; a true 10 out of 10, in my opinion (not that ratings mean very much these days, or ever).

Apart from the fact that it has a number of sharp, unexpected turns that leave the reader sitting up in bed and exclaiming, “What the hell?!?” Gone Girl has a balanced measure of literary and crime thriller elements. The first third of the book is an affecting story of a marriage unraveling. Despite revelations later in the book regarding that section (Amy's diary being a sham), the falling apart of Nick and Amy felt authentic and heartbreaking. In the second section, everything changes when we find out not only is Amy alive, but she is not who we thought she was (meaning, she's one sinister bitch). Section three should not work for as zany as the story turns, but it does, and man oh man, does it hit hard.

Coming down to the last ten or fifteen pages of the book, I was racing down the lines on the page because I just had no idea how it would finish, and was so anxious to see if Amy got what she deserved. Nick is no saint, but by the end I was rooting for him, which is what makes the ending such a stinger. I am curious how many other readers across time and space shared my experience of closing this book and saying aloud, “Man, that is f*cked up.”

Gillian Flynn is a fantastic talent and I am glad she has been recognized in such a big way. I've been told by a few reader friends that her earlier works, Dark Places and Sharp Objects, are even more demented than Gone Girl. Sounds right up my alley.

-D.G.

"Broken Monsters" Lauren Beukes - Book Review

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I picked this one up after seeing a number of authors who I respect rave about it on Twitter, citing that it was wildly original and disturbing. They weren't wrong. Plus, I mean, great title, and great cover art.

All right, negative thoughts first.

While the opening chapter is instantly compelling and promises dark and tasty things to come, the story almost immediately slows down after that, and moves forward at a painfully strolling pace for another 200 pages.

Essentially, the first half of the book feels like a whole lot of material (too much) and character development setting up for a couple of big numbers that play out in the second half. That seems reasonable enough and I understand it is the way, after all, that many books are structured, but in this case I just could not get interested in most of these characters (the book jumps between roughly five different storylines that eventually cross paths). I found myself ultimately only caring about/sympathizing with Gabi (the lead detective investigating the gruesome Detroit murders) and her daughter Layla.

Clayton Broom, a creator of unsettling tableaux art pieces made from clay and odd miscellany, is a curious presence from the start, and for that reason, also a quickly absorbing as a character.

Most of the events and characters in the first half of the book do more or less come into play later on, but at 440+ pages, there were certain chapters that absolutely felt like filler. There was a point when I almost put the book down because I just couldn't tell where it was going, and didn't care. If it had been shortened by 50 pages or so, it would have been stronger and tighter all around. Just saying.

Okay, now the good stuff.

The above criticisms aside, right around the halfway point, the book explodes into fascinating madness and intrigue, and moves more like a thriller with some pretty bizarre elements around the corners. The main characters really begin to come into their own, and I found myself invested (finally) in their fates as circumstances got more intense. Along with this, Beukes really starts to crank up—pardon me—the weird shit, and let me tell you, she's got one hell of an imagination. Breadcrumbs she had left for the reader in way earlier chapters begin to pay off as the plot comes together, and the scope and cleverness of the novel as a whole begins to shine through.

This book has been called “genre-bending,” which it is, and delightfully so. With elements of this sort, Beukes has the ability to be subtle until she is very not-subtle, and the result is supremely satisfying. Picture Michel Gandry and David Lynch dropping acid together, then deciding to make a horror film with an unlimited budget. To put it simply: things get pretty trippy.

Barring the weak first half, this was an enjoyable, mind-bending read. Beukes has a strong voice, and an ability to write realistic people into bizarre situations. I love an author with a hearty knack for THE STRANGE. Recommended for fans of The X-Files, The Twilight Zone, Twin Peaks, and any crime thriller that doesn't mind dabbling in the weird and gruesome.

-D.G.

2014: A Review in Books

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This was actually a 'slower' year for me with books, in the sense that in years prior I've knocked out a larger chunk of the unread items filling my bookshelves. Granted, my wife and I had a daughter in April, and while having a child is a tremendous joy, an infant also greatly reduces both one's time to read and their brain capacity to do so.

Something else that made this year different was that I have finally come to a place as a person where I can put down a book that I'm not enjoying. I used to be one of those I MUST FINISH IT EVEN IF I HATE IT sort of people, partly because it drove me internally crazy to leave something unfinished, and partly because some small piece of my mind was holding out that 'maybe the book will get better before the end' (most of them did not). However, at the age of twenty-six, I suppose I have come to the conclusion that life is simply too short to read crappy books, and there are too many other great, amazing, wonderful books out there to spend my time on instead. So, I've started giving a book about fifty pages (sometimes more), and if it just isn't catching me, I'll move on.

A few false starts from this year were Thomas Pynchon's Inherent Vice (what is this book? A crime novel? A comedy? Satire? It's all over the place! Apparently I'm too dense to 'get' it), Clive Barker's The Great and Secret Show (intriguing and had some catching moments, but ultimately got to where it was dragging on and on), and Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, which was excellent but it just wasn't the right time.

And now to the good stuff. Without further adieu, here are the books that hit me just right in 2014 (blue hyperlinks lead to my full reviews of each):

-Allie Brosh's hilarious web-comic-turned-book Hyperbole and a Half. I heard Allie interviewed on NPR, checked out her site, and it was all downhill from there. One of only a few books in my entire life to make me laugh out loud.

-Crimes in Southern Indiana by Frank Bill. I'm a sucker for gritty, backwoods fiction, and that's Frank Bill's specialty. Found out about him by way of Donald Ray Pollock's work. This collection of stories is the literature equivalent of getting the shit kicked out of you on a dusty sideroad by a toothless, Meth-addled maniac. Hoping to get to his follow up novel, Donnybrook, very soon.

-Travels with Charley: In Search of America, Steinbeck's cross-country trek in a custom camper-trailer with his French Poodle, Charley. This was the book I was reading in the period when my daughter was born, so for that reason it will always hold some sentimental value, but it was also a quietly beautiful and very funny book. Steinbeck's observation and wit are sharp, and his writing conveys such a love for the average man and working class America. A perfect warm weather road trip book. There is speculation that much of it is fabricated or exaggerated, but who cares? He's Steinbeck, and his words are gold.

-Jim Henson: A Biography, by Brian Jay Jones. I picked this one up at the library on a whim and it ended up being one of my favorite books this year. It is both an excellent history of Henson and all of the various endeavors he undertook during his short life, as well as a surprisingly inspiring profile of one of the most talented creative thinkers of his generation. His process was fascinating, and the man was truly brilliant; a real innovator. Henson's accomplishments go far past The Muppets.

-20th Century Ghosts, a collection of spooky short stories by Joe Hill. All of these are good, some of them are great, and a few of them are genius. Some of the finest short-form work around.

-One Shot, Lee Child. Not my usual sort of thing, but this was unabashedly fun. Everybody needs a good mindlessly entertaining “beach read” once in a while.

-The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Neil Gaiman. Delightful and imaginative. This reads like a way creepier Narnia story.

-Mr. Mercedes, Stephen King. The man has still got it.

-The Son, Phillipp Meyer. A multi-generational American epic. Hard to articulate just what a massive scope this book undertakes. Masterful storytelling. If you enjoyed the film There Will Be Blood and don't flinch at 700+ pages, this is probably up your alley.

-The Maltese Falcon, Dashiell Hammett. A definitive novel in the hard-boiled crime genre, and a pitch-perfect little story. I kind of couldn’t believe how fun and snappy this was for being nearly 100 years old.

-Vivian Versus the Apocalypse (published as Vivan Apple at the End of the World in the US) and Fear Itself (short story), Katie Coyle. WHERE DID THIS WOMAN COME FROM AND WHAT WILL SHE DO NEXT. So good you'll be mad you didn't write it.

-Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson. Because: Hunter S. Thompson.

-The Informers, Bret Easton Ellis. I'm a fan of Ellis' novels, but for some reason I was surprised by the strength of his shorter pieces. For some reason, I assumed that his style may not translate well to short form, but that wasn't the case. There is a vein of tragedy that runs through these stories. Satire so pointed it's painful. Didn't love all of them, but there are a few gems.

-The Dark Path, David Schickler. Again, not my normal sort of reading. Odd premise: a memoir of a devout Catholic who really wants to be a priest and realizes he can never be a priest. Clever prose and brutal honesty. A man who is deeply in love with God but has thoughts as dark as I do. I can dig that.

-Pet Sematary, Stephen King. Does this require comment? Gut-wrenching. Scarier (presumably) to read being a parent.

-McSweeney's 45: Hitchcock and Bradbury Fistfight in Heaven. A collection of zany, chilling stories republished from old pulp horror and sci-fi magazines, as well as a few new stories by contemporary authors. McSweeney's is hit or miss for me, but this one was spot-on.

Also:

-Wolverton Station (short), Joe Hill

-Wool, Hugh Howey

-Sharp Teeth, Toby Barlow

-The Dead Zone, Stephen King

-By the Silver Waters of Lake Champlain (short), Joe Hill

-Tincture, Book 2, Matthew D. Jordan

-Dystopolis, Christopher J. Fraser

-Just After Sunset: Stories, Stephen King

-Saga, Vol. 3, Brian K. Vaughn & Fiona Staples

-Wraith 1-7 (graphic novel, companion story to the novel NOS4A2), Joe Hill & Gabriel Rodriguez

-Still Foolin' Em, Billy Crystal

-Born Standing Up, Steve Martin (second time I’ve read this one)

-Bright Lights, Big City, Jay McInerney

-The Killing Joke, Alan Moore

Currently reading:

-The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand

-Mystery and Manners: Essays, Flannery O'Connor

-Beautiful You, Chuck Palahniuk

Up next:

-Revival, Stephen King

-Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn

-D.G.

Bright Lights, Big City - Jay McInerney

Jay McInerney has oft been clumped together with authors such as Bret Easton Ellis and Tama Janowitz for their success at a young age and “breaking onto the literary scene” in the mid-eighties. It was Ellis' work in particular that pointed me to Bright Lights, Big City, as that book is sometimes paired next to Less Than Zero for its similarities in style and tone.

Perhaps going into Bright Lights with that comparison in mind was unfair (however unavoidable; it was already planted in my little brain, after all), because while Less Than Zero is a very brash, druggy book with despicable characters, Bright Lights is, at its core, mostly a story of broken love.

The first chapter opens with the unnamed male narrator in a sleazy warehouse-like establishment where people are partying around him while he tries to hook up with less-than-ideal women (by his assessment) and find more drugs. This is a misleading way in which to begin the book because it sets a certain tone of debauchery that does not continue through the rest of the story. Yes, the main character does cocaine occasionally and seems to be an alcoholic and a bit of a bastard in his view of women, but he is not the hell-bent man on a downward spiral in the way that the opening chapter sets him up.

He is not a terribly interesting or relatable character in the first half of the book, and it is his surroundings and circumstances that are more worthy of attention. He does not so much loathe his job—a fact-checker at a prestigious New York magazine—as treat it with a sort of disconnected apathy. In fact, stoicism towards nearly everything in life is about the best way to sum up his personality. The only thing he expresses true passion about is the wife that left him a number of months before the novel begins.

The backstory of the narrator and Amanda, his wife, falls about halfway through the book, and I found this narrative to be the most “human” part of the story. It is here that the narrator does become a sympathetic figure and the reader realizes he has a tenderness to him after all. The story of the couples' romance and falling apart is simple and nothing unique from a literary perspective, but tragic and affecting just the same. From this point on, the narrator's apathy and general disinterest in life becomes somewhat more understandable.

While the novel as a whole felt slightly imbalanced to me, its strength lies in McInerney's ability to craft a lovely sentence, which may sound out of place in a book of this sort. There are many stand-alone pieces of delicate elegance scattered throughout the narrative that give one the sense that the author has a penchant for poetry. It makes for an interesting contrast: this mostly bland central character suddenly making very thoughtful observations.

I try not to go into books with any expectations (especially with authors whom I have never read before), but unfortunately in this case I did, which may have soured my perception of Bright Lights, Big City. I didn't hate it, but I also didn't love it. It was just one of those middle of the road sort of things that was at least worth a read.

Like books about discontent young men meandering about Manhattan with the occasional clever phrase peppered in? Read this. Prefer grittier stuff with lots of drugs, sex, bad behavior, and stark satire on the human condition? Bret Easton Ellis is probably more your style (and mine).

-D.G.

Pet Sematary - Stephen King

In high school, two friends and I rented Pet Sematary for a Friday night sleepover. We thought it would be a corny and ridiculous horror B-movie to make fun of, but instead it scared the hell out of us and might have stolen a little bit of our sleep that night (I talk about this and other defining horror films for me at length over here). While the film had a profound effect on me at the time, I now wish that I had not seen it before reading the book.

Roughly ten years later when I picked up Pet Sematary from where it sat untouched for years on my shelf, the general direction of the movie and vivid imagery from certain scenes were still very fresh in my mind. Had I entered the book knowing nothing of the story, I believe it would have hit me even harder than it did; it would have been a more chilling “surprise,” so to speak. That said, the book was still ultimately a powerful read, and its most notable difference from the movie is the ending, which is quite dark (and in my opinion, superior to that of the film).

As a long-time fan and Constant Reader of Stephen King, I confess that I was disappointed to find that this book took nearly 100 pages to really grab me. It was good and had enough intrigue to keep me interested, but something about it didn't feel up to King's usual level of greatness. I struggled to care about Louis Creed or his family, which is a rarity in King's work. Normally, I'm hooked on his lead characters and their defining quirks within just a few pages, but in this case I found that the digressions in dialogue and attempts at humor fell somewhat flat. Even though this is considered a “classic” among King fans, it is worth noting that this was written before the author had gotten sober, which may contribute to the lack of fervor in the first chunk of the book.

That said, by the time Louis was being led to the Micmac burial ground by Jud Crandall with the dead cat Church in his arms, I was drawn in for the long haul. There is a teeming discomfort throughout this book that carries a great heaviness; something just around the corner but never quite in full sight. This quality is exemplified, apart from the obvious, in the nondescript creatures who loom in the forest around the burial ground. King does an excellent job of never describing exactly what these beings look like (as they are never fully seen by any character), but their dreadful presence is undeniably felt.

Another aspect of the underlying heaviness is the Pet Sematary's supernatural, almost personified ability to “pull” at characters minds, drawing them to itself. There is even suggestion that the burial ground has a force of its own that can influence the physical realm, such as when Rachel is hindered from getting home at a critical moment when the battery terminal on her rental car mysteriously unhooks itself, or when Jud Crandall is waiting all night for Louis to get home to prevent him from doing something unspeakable, yet Jud is lulled asleep at just the wrong moment. There is a feeling that the Sematary is against all of these people; a demonic force bent on bringing destruction to the lives in its vicinity.

The strength of King's writing—whether he was sober at the time or not—is most felt in the middle of the book as he describes the Creed family experiencing the loss of their child. This is a taboo subject in any circumstance: you just don't mess with the death of a child. But King approaches the tragedy with the delicacy and sympathy of an actual father (he is one, after all) and the realism of how each of the characters mourns is striking. As the father of a seven-month-old, I found myself tearing up more than once through these passages, and I've been told by several others that Pet Sematary is far more terrifying to read as a parent. The realities of the situation are just too heartbreaking to dwell upon for long.

The ending—which I won't spoil here (but then can you really spoil something more than thirty years old?)—absolutely shocked me, which is why I was delighted to find it different from the movie. Let's just say that many of King's works end mostly well for his characters most of the time. This one doesn't, and it's one of those gut-dropping conclusions that makes you walk away saying, “Oh ma-a-an...”

Even with the rocky start (in my opinion), this was a strong read and a significantly unsettling book. Does it deserve the term “Classic” in the world of King's catalog? I'd say so.

-D.G.

The Dark Path - David Schickler

“Sometimes I want someone else to see what I see. Other times I want to be the only one.”

I enjoyed this book, although in setting out to write this review, I could not think of where to begin in summarizing it. The first thing that comes to mind is that it is one of the most brutally honest presentations of a “broken” male that I have ever read, an aspect I appreciated very much. David Schickler is fully aware of his own flaws, and shies away from not a single one of them in this memoir centered around his youthful intentions of becoming a priest.

In a world where we hardly need another memoir regarding the emotional issues of a middle-class white male (because what problems have we ever really had?), at least two things stand above the rest and warrant David’s story. First, his character, humor, and up-frontness from the get-go. Within five pages, I liked him and appreciated his childlike observation and imagination. His personality is the perfect blend of shyness and closeted naughty fascinations. Secondly, the quality of Schickler’s writing. This reads like a bright and well-crafted novel, with enough clever anecdotes and deeper-than-surface digressions to keep me saying, again and again, “Damn, this is good.” I flipped back through my copy of the book before writing this and found I had underlined something on nearly every other page, such as:

“I wonder why people my age have to put shit all over their walls that says This is who I am!”

or, in processing his own thoughts, “…your life is a competition between you and the strongest version of yourself, the version God wants you to become.”

In the opening chapter, David describes himself sitting in Sunday Mass as a ten year old, trying to pay attention to the service but getting distracted with daydreaming about the various pretty girls in the pews who might be his future wife. This is a fitting way to open the book, as faith and females are both recurring aspects throughout his story.

From a young age, David has a strong desire to know God, to follow God, to be alone with God and really hear Him, but there is a discord in the relationship that he can’t seem to put his finger on. While his desire for God is sincere, there is a lack of harmony in David’s heart as he wrestles to know what God really wants of him, and how to reconcile following God with his own earthly tendencies (sleeping with women, mostly, but also swearing, dark thoughts, writing fiction about questionable things, etc.).

The book primarily follows David’s journey through college and the years following. The main drama unfolds in his wrestling with whether he is really cut out to be a priest or not, as well as an extremely debilitating handicap that develops in his right leg, and his off-and-on relationship with Mara—a fictional name that represents a real woman in his life.

Underneath these physical elements is a constant “dialogue” between David and God that, at times, grows quite heated (at least on David’s end). His experience with faith and devotion ranges widely (and I can’t help but get the feeling that it probably still does to this day). David is sometimes a devout man of childlike faith who believes without question and seems quite in love with God. Other times, he is openly cursing God, demanding explanation for just what exactly God is doing to him and even goes through a period where he considers God not to be there at all.

It was these passages that made the book for me, as I can deeply resonate with a person so fervently wrestling to believe. If David didn’t care so passionately about knowing God truly, it would not be wrestling at all; it would be a simple decision disconnected from emotion to simply choose to believe or not. The Dark Path seems representative of this new era we have recently morphed into as a culture of people becoming more and more comfortable with being vulnerable, honest, and real, even if it means admitting to flaws in themselves that can be quite difficult to expose.

All of the above might make this sound like a “Christian-y” book; it is not in the least, although people of faith will probably find more to glean. In fact, I think all of the sex, swearing, and borderline-blasphemy contained within would make a majority of Christians squirm (they made me swoon with glee, but that’s another story). Still, whether you believe in God as a Being or not, David is asking good questions in this book—honest, meaningful, human questions to which he is actually trying to discern the answers.

The ending (no spoilers, but then this isn’t really that sort of book) only “kind of” resolves in the sense that David seems to have grown as a person and gotten more comfortable with his own mental and spiritual processes the older he gets. He is still essentially the same person, he’s just gotten slightly more used to himself, the good and “bad” parts alike.

By the end of this book, I very much wished I could just sit down and have coffee—or a few beers—with David and pick his brain, see where he’s at now. My perception is that his wrestle with God will continue and there will be high and low points, but then, that’s not so different from any of our experiences, is it?

-D.G.

“The Informers” Book Review - Bret Easton Ellis - Short Story collection

This post includes affiliate links that support independent bookstores (instead of Amazon!), from which I make a small commission.

It is somewhat hard to pinpoint just what is so fascinating about Ellis' writing—fascinating to many, that is, but perhaps boring or confusing to others because 'nothing happens.' I've read four of his other works at this point (Less Than Zero, Imperial Bedrooms, American Psycho, and Glamorama, in that order), and in every case, his characters are absolutely despicable people, ranging from the spoiled, over-privileged brat to the psychotic serial-torturer. They are frequently ultra-rich, apathetic to everything, stoic, extremely entitled, disgustingly selfish, and the list goes on.

Perhaps one reason Ellis' work is so enticing is that we as humans are captivated by watching others behave more badly than ourselves; taking their wretchedness to the extreme, so to speak, and acting more perversely than we would ever dare or imagine. To some degree, we find depravity fun to read about. Few (if any) of Ellis' characters are sympathetic, and yet most of us probably feel some level of horrified sympathy for them anyway for the way they are destroying themselves and don't even recognize it. That said, his characters don't need to be sympathetic in order to be interesting, or to seem realistic.

The Informers is a collection of loosely-connected stories set in 1980's California, primarily Los Angeles. Each chapter is told from a different narrator's voice and it is sometimes unclear whether they are male or female until several pages into the story. While certain characters appear in multiple stories, there does not seem to be a great deal of importance in keeping track of who is who most of the time. This is not because the characters are flat, per se, but more because they are often so indiscernible from each other in their actions; everyone is constantly drinking, getting stoned, doing coke, going to high-class restaurants, sleeping with each other without consideration or consequence, etc. Generally, the current narrator of each story is the only one with any depth and thus the one to whom you ought give your attention.

The above paragraph might seem like a criticism, but I assure you it isn't. Ellis is able to make these lifeless, over-indulgent, self-destructive characters work for his style of narrative, as he always has (in my experience). Amidst the paragraphs of rampant drug use, easy sex, and designer clothing are moments—sometimes single sentences—of keen human observation; still, small, seemingly benign details that express the tragedy or beauty of a scene. Also, the people he creates do feel authentic, even if they’re terrible human beings.

The stories that stood out to me most were, “The Up Escalator,” “In the Islands,” (these both featuring, to my perception, the closest thing to sympathetic characters in the collection), “Water from the Sun,” “The Secrets of Summer,” and lastly, “On the Beach.” I particularly enjoyed “The Secrets of Summer” because it took such an interesting, unexpected turn which I will not spoil here.

Bret Easton Ellis is not for everyone, and for readers new to his work I would not recommend The Informers as a great place to start (Less Than Zero is a better introduction to what you’re in for; American Psycho is wonderful and mesmerizing, but not for the weak of heart). Still, I found this to be a very solid read. Each of these stories stands on its own, and yet together they present a sort of grotesque whole. Ellis has such a delicate way of presenting satire (not that the content is delicate), but in the way that the deeper commentary sneaks up on you in the midst of a presentation of vile circumstances. I can’t say I was expecting not to like this, but I can say I was surprised with just how much I appreciated it. One of the best books I’ve read in 2014.

-D.G.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson

It doesn't seem right to 'review' this in the regular sense, as its position as a cultural icon of literature has been firmly-seated for a number of years, but I will make some observations and comments.

First of all: I would have loved to have known Hunter Thompson when he was still with us, particularly in this era (although he seemed like a jarring person to be around for a number of reasons). After reading Fear and Loathing, I watched the fairly recent documentary Gonzo and my fascinated appreciation for Thompson only grew. This cautious affection seems to be held for Hunter by a lot of readers who never knew him. There's no question that he was a person who demanded—and often received—attention, whether in the form of (no pun) loathing or admiration.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is such a wild, terrifying ride; the sort of thing that is equally horrifying and unsettling, yet you can't take your eyes off it. I've always thought there is something fascinating about watching others behave more badly than we are 'allowed to.' This concept is rampant in media today, thus the popularity of such shows as Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Dexter, House of Cards, and countless others. We love these characters, but they're all doing different versions of wretched, horrible, immoral things that most of us would not dare to do for sake of safety or not going to jail. I'm not sure how much Thompson fictionalized himself in the character of Raul Duke (that has probably been addressed elsewhere), but I have a feeling more of it is truth than invention.

So, why is it so damn exciting to read about two men going on a crazy drug and alcohol binge in our modern day Sodom and Gomorrah? Because it would be scary as hell to be high in those situations? Because these characters are so eccentric and seem to only spiral further downward in their series of bad decisions? Because these are drugs most of us are unfamiliar with and their effects are so intriguing and alarming? Because, if we're honest, doing the same thing just sounds like a lot of fun? I'm not sure. Probably a bit of all those reasons.

In the midst of the firecracker narrative, Thompson also has more than a few moments of clarity and stark, cynical observation. 'Fear and loathing' seems to be the term he used frequently across his works to sum up his feelings about the U.S., and perhaps even his feelings towards being alive. He seemed fearful and disgusted of where the country was headed (or already had arrived), and loathed much of what he saw from day to day. It is in these quieter moments that one recognizes just how talented a writer Hunter really was. He had the ability to be wild and hilarious and over-the-top, but also to zero in and be frank about very real issues.

The more I read and watch about Thompson, what I come to appreciate is that he was a guy who saw shit for what it was and wasn't afraid to point it out. He was sharp, observant, and unafraid. His lifestyle was dangerous, pushed-to-the-limit, and perhaps less than admirable a lot of the time, but you have to give him credit for being true to his nature.

I loved this book, and blasted through it in only a few sittings. I underlined a number of profound or hilarious passages. I will absolutely be reading more Hunter Thompson (this was my first encounter with his work). This was one of the funnest books I've read all year. Also: looking forward to revisiting Terry Gilliam's film. Haven't seen it since high school, and at the time I knew nothing about Thompson, and I remember not understanding the movie at all.

While I do believe Hunter S. Thompson changed journalism in his time and defined a whole new way of reporting for a number of years, it seems that at present we have slipped back into a very flat, fake, maximum-reaction method of reporting. I daresay we could use another brutally honest voice like Thompson's today to blast through the facade.

-D.G.

Inherent Vice - Thomas Pynchon

I had trouble staying with this one, and I can understand why the other reviews here are rather polarizing. I went into it not knowing much of anything other than that P.T. Anderson has adapted it into a film, and I wanted to read it before I saw the movie. I have also never read Pynchon before, and this may have been an odd book to start with as it is apparently outside of his usual style.

The plot was tricky to follow in the sense that it begins as a fairly straight-forward mystery, but things get complicated when character upon character are introduced and it's not immediately apparent if they are important to the story or merely colorful distractions. While things eventually tie together and you come to learn who is really connected to the plot and what details are important, there are also plenty of stories from various characters that are ultimately pointless other than that they represent the culture and attitude of the 1970's and are often funny in their absurdity. The book is funny, without a doubt, and has enough pop culture references to keep things interesting most of the time, but following the mystery can get muddled when Doc Sportello is frequently stopping to get high and there are long passages of drug-addled existential gibberish.

I can see the pure talent of the author in this book, and I do believe that technically it is a good piece of work, it just felt a little high-brow for me (somehow absurd humor and satire can also be too literary for its own good). While it started as a fun and very funny book, it ultimately became tedious and tangled. High-profile critics who raved about the book would probably just say I was too daft to understand it, and perhaps they're right.

That said, I'm fascinated to see the film for a couple of reasons: 1) I think it would be extremely difficult to adapt because of its meandering narrative, but apparently P.T. Anderson's script has Pynchon's personal approval, and 2) I have yet to see P.T. Anderson go awry. I believe he is an incredible talent who can tackle every genre he takes on, and is on his way to be the Kubrick of this generation. Also, the cast is exceptional. Really looking forward to this one in December.

-D.G.

The Maltese Falcon - Dashiell Hammett

This may be a shallow thought of me to have had, but it's honest: when I picked up this book at a library sale (because the front cover was awesome and I love the artwork on old paperbacks), I figured I'd never read it because it was probably boring. I know, don't judge me too harshly yet. I have this strange (and incorrect) assumption sometimes that 'older' pieces of media or art are going to be less interesting to my 2014 brain; silent films, books written previous to 1940 or so, Shakespearean theatre, etc. This mindset probably comes from our hyped-up culture where things are constantly getting bigger, more intense, more immediate.

Well, I was wrong. Totally wrong.

Last week I picked this book up off my shelf and decided to give it a whirl, and within a chapter I knew I was hooked for several reasons. First of all, it's practically the story that all other hard-boiled American-crime detective novels and movies stem from, or at least one of the founding stories to that genre. Elements of The Maltese Falcon only seem familiar because we've seen them mimicked and copied in many forms and iterations. The opening scene is classic and just right: a woman in trouble walks into a ruddy detective's office for help. Secondly, aforementioned detective Sam Spade is a badass; a real man's-man, but not a male chauvinist. He's smarter than he looks on the outside, even-tempered, witty, and just reserved enough to keep people guessing.

Brigid O'Shaughnessy, the woman who comes to Spade's office in distress, is complex and frustrating in that she is constantly weaving new versions of her story to her own advantage, and you're often not sure how much of what leaves her lips is truth (although Sam calls her out on more than a few deceptions). She was fun and infuriating at the same time, using her snappy personality and good looks to sway the hearts of men (even Sam's, for a time).

For a book published in 1929, Falcon has an incredible amount of realism and tiny, specific details that add so much texture to the story and could only have come from an author with a constantly observant mind. I could never have a guessed a mystery novel from this era could be so literary, and so fun to read. While the plot gets complicated toward the last third, the writing is easy to follow and the story isn't so twisty that it leaves the reader in a tangled mess of uncertainty.

Dashiell Hammett is considered by some to be the pioneer of the detective story, and his work inspired a flood of such stories throughout the 1920's to 1940's. We'll just overlook that part about when he quit writing fiction to join the Communist Party, was blacklisted by the government, thrown in jail, etcetera.

Anyway, this read was sharp as a whip-crack, and so much fun. I am thankful that I have never seen the film with Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade, and am now anxious to see how it translates. Mystery fan or not, if you've got good taste in books, you'll find a lot here to appreciate; there's a reason it has remained in print for 85 years.

-D.G.

WOOL - Hugh Howey

Hugh Howey has an incredible ability to continue bringing surprises throughout his stories. This is one sign of a gifted writer, to be able to build up the action and keep you distracted, then whack you upside the head with something unexpected at the close of the act. I found this to be true of Wool over and over, which was delightful. It is a different sort of story than I have discovered in some time, full of clever new ideas while still giving obvious nods back to classic sci-fi themes.

Wool began it’s life as a what was intended to be no more than a stand-alone short story in 2011 (that story now serves as the first section of the novel). The premise is essentially this: the remaining survivors of the human race live in a massive, sealed-off silo that goes 144 stories deep into the ground. Some untold event wiped out the Earth’s ability to sustain life, thus all greenery is dead, the outside air is toxic, and the landscape is nothing but windswept dust and rock. The quality of life inside the silo is pleasant enough, considering, but to speak of the outside or express any desire to leave the silo is forbidden. Those who are overheard voicing such desires are sentenced to death by way of ‘cleaning;’ being put in a body-suit and sent outside the doors to be rapidly eaten alive by the poisonous environment.

Howey’s description of the silo and it’s inhabitants is bustling with life; he brings the reader into the realities of this world easily. The transition from the silo being a new concept to a familiar one is short. There are no elevators, so walking the spiral stairs from the top to the bottom takes days. Mechanical is down in the lowest levels, keeping water, power, and oxygen running throughout the facility. There is a hospital wing, several levels of gardens and greenery, a supply manufacturing area, a cafeteria, and classrooms. While there is a Mayor and Sheriff keeping order in the silo, it is clear from early on that the reclusive and heavily-guarded IT department is really who runs the show.

The main character is Jules, a rough-on-the-outside but extremely clever mid-thirties woman who works in Mechanical. Through a set of unlikely circumstances, she is promoted to Sheriff. This does not go over well with IT, and crap hits the fan pretty fast after that.

The story begins rather small in scope but expands continuously as mysteries are revealed and the various levels of the silo are fleshed out. There is a constant uneasiness throughout the book; an unsettling consensus among the silo-dwellers that something is not quite right about the way they are made to live. Questions are asked as to whether the people are being kept in fear of the outside for reasons more extreme than are true.

I mentioned the story being surprising, and I think the above reasons are what make it so. The author familiarizes the reader with one set of rules and circumstances for a while, then breaks through those with the realization that all is not as it seems. The premise is supremely interesting and reminds me of older, simpler sci-fi tales from another time. His characters are unique and sympathetic, and the situations they find themselves in make for some complex emotional decisions.

To mention but one negative quality: I believe the book could have used some further editing cuts. There were moments that definitely seemed to drag and were drawn out a little longer than they needed to be. While the story as a whole is captivating, certain passages slowed it down. I think it could have been a stellar, perfectly-paced novel if about forty pages of dross were removed.

That said, I did keep reading, after all, so this was only a minor complaint.

In all, with Wool Howey has been able to craft a unique and almost instantly likeable story that somehow can be heard distinguishably over the loud waves of post-apocalyptic fiction flooding the current market with clichés. With two more books to go in the Silo Trilogy, it will be interesting to see where he takes the story from here.

-D.G.

The Son - Philipp Meyer

It is difficult to summarize this book, for its scope and breadth are massive. It has been described a 'sweeping American epic,' and that it is. The Son covers more than a hundred years of Texan and American West history, as well as four generations of the tragic McCullough family.

The narrative cycles between three primary characters: Eli McCullough (later known as The Colonel, though it is only a nickname; he holds no military rank), whose story begins in the 1850's when his family is killed by Comanche Indians and he is taken captive, Peter McCullough, Eli's somewhat pathetic and endlessly cynical son who is struggling for his father's approval and to manage the family business in 1917, and Jeannie McCullough, the great-granddaughter of Eli and owner of the now multimillion dollar McCullough oil business from the 1950's to present day.

The bulk of the book is taken up by Eli's story, and primarily his time with the Comanches from ages thirteen to sixteen. This section is fascinating, tragic, horrifying, and ultimately beautiful in a way that I believe most readers will find unfamiliar because of the time period in which it is set. The passages describing the lives of the Indians are vibrant; lengthy paragraphs explain in great detail their ways of life, such as hunting, tracking, skinning and preparing animals for food and supply—they wasted no part of the carcass, everything could be used for something—making tools or weapons, grooming for battle, and the inner-workings and respect system of their tribe. Meyer clearly went to great lengths to research these practices and describe them accurately, and the narrative is all the more rich for it. The descriptions of food throughout the book are incredibly succulent and mouth-watering, which is weird to say when the meals being described (the brains and marrow of a buffalo, squirrel meat, deer stomach, etc.) are not exactly delicacies of our day.

There is a strange and sad parallel between the boy Eli the reader comes to know (and love, and sympathize with) and The Colonel, a disgruntled old man, spoken about by his family in later chapters. The Colonel is considered to be stoic and hard and unreasonable, concerned only with money, oil, and expanding his empire. However, knowing his back story explains his behavior as an older man, and the reader cannot help but feel sorry for the things he has lost and the changes he has seen his country undergo.

Peter is, as mentioned, constantly striving for his father's respect and always seems to come up short. He considers himself untalented and the least favorite of his father's three sons; a disappointment, not business-minded, and a 'soft' man, unfamiliar with the rough ways of life on the frontier. I found him to be a complex character, as there are times when I was irritated with him and thought his sections were nothing but complaint and whiny talk, yet I grew to feel sympathy for him and realized that he, too, was just another sad character.

Jeannie's sections are full of conflict and uncertainty. Her story spans from her self-conscious teenage years—during which she furiously second-guesses her every thought and desperately wants to be perceived as pretty—to her elderly decline as an extremely wealthy, powerful woman with estranged children who is just as unsure of herself as she was as a child. Jeannie's story is perhaps the most heartbreaking of the three characters, mostly because her every thought is agonizing and uncertain, and she feels like such a real character; an authentic person. Also, Meyer's ability to write in a woman's voice is—to my eyes—quite good.

There are glad moments, as well as humor, but this book is defined by a dark, heavy cloud that hangs over every circumstance. Each characters' wants, needs, and desires are clearly laid out, yet they often go unsatisfied; The Son is a work of great dissonance. But it also contains careful observation and appreciation, both for the human heart and the rich landscape of the West. To call it ambitious is an understatement. It is at once lovely and sad.

The ending left me feeling not devastated, nor overjoyed, but in a way: just right. It ends how it ought to end; it ends like real life. Philipp Meyer has done something incredible with this novel, and there are so many still, small moments within it to appreciate. If you decide to take the journey with the McCullough family, I believe you will feel, like me, better for having done so.

-D.G.

Mr. Mercedes - Stephen King

This plays out like a well-crafted episode of Columbo, where the viewer (or reader, in this case) knows who the badguy is from the beginning, and the fun of the story is in getting to see the detective sniff him out.

The head sleuth in this instance is retired Detective Kermit William Hodges (or just Bill), who, when we meet him, is bored, slightly depressed, and spends his days watching crummy TV and contemplating suicide. He is jerked out of the dullness of retirement when a taunting letter from a previous un-captured perpetrator arrives in the mail.

Brady Hartsfield (Mr. Mercedes himself [that's not a spoiler, we know it's him very early on]) is one of the most sinister, WTF-is-wrong-with-this-guy villains King has conjured up yet. Brady is only mildly pitiable, and yet, watching his character unfold is fascinating. Also, his relationship with his mother makes ones' skin crawl. King has taken what might have been an overused horror trope—a creepy, murderous psychopath who is also an ice cream man—and makes it work. Brady is clever, but insane; able to keep a happy, upbeat outer appearance, but underneath is boiling and furious at the world.

This is a satisfyingly complex story, largely because of Bill Hodges' choice to go around the law and operate on his own (illegally, as he is no longer officially able to do police work). There is another element of an aging man trying to figure out a young man's world; Hodges is used to the old way of doing things, and criminals have become more technologically advanced than he can keep up with. For this, he recruits the unofficial help of Jerome, a sharp-witted African-American high-schooler in the neighborhood. Their working partnership is an unique one, frequently humorous, and gels together all the better for its unlikely quality.

Mr. Mercedes has no supernatural elements whatsoever, but it is no less chilling in certain parts—these regarding Brady and his psychotic musings. In recent years, King has somewhat moved away from supernatural or horror elements (as least those as the central focus) and started simply telling stories about people, even if the story does involve some bit or piece of the fantastic. Under the Dome, 11/22/63, and Full Dark, No Stars, for example, were all more-so stories about people and characters than they were about the scary things at the edges. The best part about King's writing (and probably the reason he has such an enormous audience of readers) almost always seems to be the real, relatable characters he creates and their interactions with one another that feel so frequently genuine.

This is a smart, snappy little read, and one that I think might be even more accessible than usual for a first-time King reader. Chances are, most folks who pick this one up have read King before, but if you haven't, it's not a bad place to start. His craft is as sharp as ever.

-D.G.

Vivian Versus the Apocalypse - Katie Coyle

You know, there are two things I don't choose to read very frequently: novels with a teenage girl as the main character, and novels about the end of the world. This book is both, and I am so grateful to have had it recommended to me. Published first in the UK, this is Katie Coyle's debut, award-winning novel (with a sequel coming down the pike).

It begins with Vivian and her friend Harp on Rapture's Eve, the night when all the Believers of The Church of America have been prophesied by Pastor Beaton Frick to be taken away to paradise. Vivian is a smart, level-headed girl with a touch of teenage insecurity, but also the depth and careful thoughtfulness of a much older woman. Harp Janda is the party-girl/snarky-bitch-that-you-can't-help-but-adore who makes the perfect contrast to Vivian, and is also the funniest, laugh-out-loud teenage character I have encountered since Ron Weasley.

Circumstances take Vivian and Harp across the country on a roadtrip (along with Peter, a handsome young man with long fingers who is much more than your typical heartthrob) that is at times daunting and scary, but also fun and exploratory, even in the midst of hard times.

We're all tired of the term 'coming-of-age novel,' but in many ways, that's what this story is, but with such bigger ideas surrounding it. It is also brightly satirical, and preaches more truth by way of humor than most books in the same category ever dare to approach. Speaking of category, this is a young adult novel—a term I'm learning more and more means absolutely nothing, and I mean that in the best way—but is rich with strong ideas and stark insights about who we are as people and what it means to have faith. Sure, maybe the marketing people are pointing it at a younger crowd, but there is much to glean here for readers of any age.

There are the highly-emotional thought-processes one might expect from a teenage narrator—including the insecurities that revolve around the crush Vivian has on Peter—yet these are endearing, not cloying. Also, I found Edie's brief story in the foodcourt to be heartbreaking and beautifully told—you'll know what I mean when you get there.

This is a story that could have had a very run-of-the-mill, predictable ending and still been a decent book. However, the final forty pages or so had several surprises that left me honestly stunned at how brilliantly the book finished up; the reader receives the perfect narrative payoff.

Vivian was a smart, entertaining, and thoughtful book, with more literary quality than probably any other novel with the word 'Apocalypse' in its title. Stop all your Katniss-chanting and root for a new badass: Vivian Apple.

*

It will be released in the US next year as Vivian Apple at the End of the World, but you can (and should) buy it now over here, or even preorder the sequel, Vivian Versus America, that comes out this September. The author is @krcoyle on Twitter.

-D.G.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman

I'm not sure what I was expecting when I picked this up, but what I received was surprising and wonderful; I enjoyed it far more than I even thought I would. It shares some similarities with Gaiman's Coraline: an imaginative child caught up in bizarre and life-threatening situations with other-worldly creatures.

The book is packed with sensory richness. The first half of the story is filled with vivid descriptions of the English countryside and saliva-inducing sentences about warm, savory comfort foods (like Old Mrs. Hempstock's banana pancakes). Gaiman is masterful at writing from the perspective of a child, as all the observances he includes are just the sort of thing one remembers from their own childhood; elements both nostalgic and scary.

Speaking of scary, this book is delightfully creepy, yet there is a careful subtlety about the spooky parts. This book could probably be read to children without giving them horrific nightmares, but there's enough between the lines to thoroughly creep out a grown adult. As with many of Gaiman's works, this story peeks behind the curtain of the universe at forces much older and more powerful than the world before our eyes; a straight-forward story that hints at much bigger concepts.

While the 'villain' in this story torments the seven-year-old narrator (who is never named) to no end, his security and fortress is the kind yet mysterious trio of Hempstock women; Old Mrs. Hempstock, her daughter Ginnie, and Ginnie's daughter Lettie (an eleven-year-old who befriends the narrator, and unintentionally lands him in serious trouble). These women have curious powers and are capable of some fantastic things, and it is hinted that they are much, much older than they appear. These were my favorite characters for their humor, strangeness, and warmth.

This book is short, so it's hard to say much without giving something away, but suffice it to say that I found myself captivated after only a few pages and I blew through the book in a couple sittings. It is a small, sweet story of childhood friendship with weirdness at the corners and hints of much larger themes. This is definitely one I will read to my kids when they're a little older, for I think it is going to have the same timelessness as the Narnia stories, though it is significantly darker in tone.

-D.G.