As an extremely fearful flier, I always try to carry a book along which has an interesting story but is easy to read, because I find it impossible to fully concentrate on reading while holding up the airplane. My daughter-in-law recommended Dean Koontz for this purpose, whose books she characterized as "mind candy."
Unfortunately, I think I must have chosen one of Koontz's worst offerings. I know he is extremely popular, and I cannot help but believe that most of his novels are better than this one. I should have been warned by the fact that it was originally published under a pseudonym. Even as "mind candy," it was less than successful.
The plot concerns a genius physicist who wakes up in a hospital with no memories of her past life. Gradually, most memories return, including the remembrance of a fraternity hazing incident from her college days which left her boyfriend dead and her as the testifying witness against four fraternity brothers. She remembers that at least two of the men are dead, and yet she begins seeing all four at the hospital, disguised as patients and orderlies, still looking to be in their early twenties although many years have passed. Are they hallucinations from a brain injury? Is she going crazy? Are they actually ghosts, as they claim to be? Is the whole situation a giant conspiracy with everyone in the hospital involved? To complicate matters, she falls in love with her doctor almost immediately.
This supernatural mystery was never actually scarey, and the solution (which is explained by a character in a very lame method of revelation) is so unlikely as to be laughable, and reveals many, many plot holes.
If I ever read Koontz again, I will seek out a recommendation for a specific title. Surely he has produced better.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Ape House by Sara Gruen
This novel is a bit strange, in that its pieces don't seem to quite fit together.
The most interesting piece concerns the apes--bonobos--and their almost-human abilities to communicate through sign language and the computer. Gruen reportedly extensively researched the work being done with our first cousins, and her account of their abilities is both factual and fascinating. Although she explores the bonobos' personalities to an extent, I kept wishing she had expanded this aspect of the story.
The second piece of the plot concerns Isabel Duncan, a scientist working with the bonobos at the Great Ape Language Lab who is more comfortable with apes than with people. When the lab is blown up and the apes are sold and transported to an unknown location, she must finally trust a few other people in order to secure the safety of her beloved bonobos. This aspect of the story has a tenuous connection to the first piece, although her transformation seems almost to come out of nowhere.
A very large piece of the novel is the account of John Thigpen, the reporter who helps Isabel in her efforts to protect the bonobos. We learn about his employment troubles, his failed-novelist wife and her stint as a television script writer, the couple's in-law problems, the wife's wish to have a baby and the husband's ambivalence about fatherhood, what a good cook the wife is and how sexy she is, and so on and so on. This part of the story seems to have no connection to the ape story at all. In fact, it could just as well belong to another novel altogether, or perhaps be developed as a novel all by itself, with just a bit of expansion.
I could go on and on, mentioning several other subplots that don't seem to have any relevance to the ape story. There's the meth lab explosion, for instance.
I don't understand why some editor didn't step in and tell Sara Gruen to focus on telling one story.
I really wanted to like this book because I found Gruen's Water for Elephants to be charming. The best I can say is that I liked the part about the apes.
The most interesting piece concerns the apes--bonobos--and their almost-human abilities to communicate through sign language and the computer. Gruen reportedly extensively researched the work being done with our first cousins, and her account of their abilities is both factual and fascinating. Although she explores the bonobos' personalities to an extent, I kept wishing she had expanded this aspect of the story.
The second piece of the plot concerns Isabel Duncan, a scientist working with the bonobos at the Great Ape Language Lab who is more comfortable with apes than with people. When the lab is blown up and the apes are sold and transported to an unknown location, she must finally trust a few other people in order to secure the safety of her beloved bonobos. This aspect of the story has a tenuous connection to the first piece, although her transformation seems almost to come out of nowhere.
A very large piece of the novel is the account of John Thigpen, the reporter who helps Isabel in her efforts to protect the bonobos. We learn about his employment troubles, his failed-novelist wife and her stint as a television script writer, the couple's in-law problems, the wife's wish to have a baby and the husband's ambivalence about fatherhood, what a good cook the wife is and how sexy she is, and so on and so on. This part of the story seems to have no connection to the ape story at all. In fact, it could just as well belong to another novel altogether, or perhaps be developed as a novel all by itself, with just a bit of expansion.
I could go on and on, mentioning several other subplots that don't seem to have any relevance to the ape story. There's the meth lab explosion, for instance.
I don't understand why some editor didn't step in and tell Sara Gruen to focus on telling one story.
I really wanted to like this book because I found Gruen's Water for Elephants to be charming. The best I can say is that I liked the part about the apes.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Battle Royale by Koushun Takami
(I just returned from a trip and did not write reviews on the books I read while I was away. So, no, I did not read 4 books in a couple of days. I read fast, but not that fast)
I chose to read this translated Japanese book out of curiosity, because it is alleged by some that the author of The Hunger Games copied it. (She says not.) This one was written first (1999), and it does develop the same premise of teenagers forced to fight to the death, but the resemblance ends there.
Basically, I would say that The Hunger Games was written with pre-teen and teenage girls in mind, with the emphasis being on the character development of a young woman in a dangerous situation, while Battle Royale was written with teenage boys in mind, with the emphasis being on action and blood and gore. The Hunger Games aims for status as "Literature," while Battle Royale is unashamedly pulp fiction.
Here we have 42 participants, all from the same class in school. Only a few characters are followed, so most are just briefly sketched before they are killed in various creative and graphically described ways. Even the main characters are only perfunctorily delineated, so that the focus remains on the action. The fascist society that promotes the battles is only touched upon, and the rationale for the battles is never very clear.
This is not a novel to be taken seriously, even as a young adult offering, but it is fast moving and easy to read and somewhat suspenseful. According to reports, the movie version was extremely popular in Japan, although somewhat controversial because of the extreme violence. For what it is, it is well done.
I chose to read this translated Japanese book out of curiosity, because it is alleged by some that the author of The Hunger Games copied it. (She says not.) This one was written first (1999), and it does develop the same premise of teenagers forced to fight to the death, but the resemblance ends there.
Basically, I would say that The Hunger Games was written with pre-teen and teenage girls in mind, with the emphasis being on the character development of a young woman in a dangerous situation, while Battle Royale was written with teenage boys in mind, with the emphasis being on action and blood and gore. The Hunger Games aims for status as "Literature," while Battle Royale is unashamedly pulp fiction.
Here we have 42 participants, all from the same class in school. Only a few characters are followed, so most are just briefly sketched before they are killed in various creative and graphically described ways. Even the main characters are only perfunctorily delineated, so that the focus remains on the action. The fascist society that promotes the battles is only touched upon, and the rationale for the battles is never very clear.
This is not a novel to be taken seriously, even as a young adult offering, but it is fast moving and easy to read and somewhat suspenseful. According to reports, the movie version was extremely popular in Japan, although somewhat controversial because of the extreme violence. For what it is, it is well done.
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
I have often noticed that the back-cover blurbs of many novels do the books a disservice by overly extravagant praise, especially in their comparisons to outstanding works and authors. The reader is led to expect too much, which most often results in disappointment, even though the book in question may be interesting in its own way. That was certainly the case with this novel, which is compared to the writings of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Umberto Eco, and Jorge Luis Borges. Unfortunately, it did not in any way live up to that standard of creativity and excellence. So even though The Shadow of the Wind is something of a page-turner, with a succession of mysteries and melodramatic events, I was disappointed.
The novel begins in a very promising fashion when young Daniel is taken by his father to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, where he is permitted to choose one book to adopt, to make sure it will always stay alive. He soon discovers that his chosen book comes with a mystery, because someone has been systematically hunting down and burning all the author's novels. Intrigued, as he grows to adulthood he begins trying to learn the history of Julian Carfax, the author of his Forgotten Book, and of the identity of the unknown destroyer of Carfax's novels. Along the way, he finds an amusing sidekick who helps him in his quest and a young lady to love, a situation which comes with its own set of problems.
Actually, if I had not expected more from this novel I would have given it much higher praise. I will say it is much above average for popular fiction, but that it is not Literary Fiction, such as one would expect from Marquez or Borges or even Eco. I expect most readers would find it great fun to read.
The novel begins in a very promising fashion when young Daniel is taken by his father to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, where he is permitted to choose one book to adopt, to make sure it will always stay alive. He soon discovers that his chosen book comes with a mystery, because someone has been systematically hunting down and burning all the author's novels. Intrigued, as he grows to adulthood he begins trying to learn the history of Julian Carfax, the author of his Forgotten Book, and of the identity of the unknown destroyer of Carfax's novels. Along the way, he finds an amusing sidekick who helps him in his quest and a young lady to love, a situation which comes with its own set of problems.
Actually, if I had not expected more from this novel I would have given it much higher praise. I will say it is much above average for popular fiction, but that it is not Literary Fiction, such as one would expect from Marquez or Borges or even Eco. I expect most readers would find it great fun to read.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
The Son by Philipp Meyer
This long Phillip Meyer novel set in Texas is often a page-turner and fun to read, yet I feel that much of the positive hype that surrounds it is undeserved. I would certainly not classify it as "The Great American Novel" or "an epic in the tradition of Faulkner and Melville."
It's hard to know what opinion I might have if I lived in Wisconsin or New York City, for instance, but since I have lived all my life in Texas I'm sure my opinion is skewed. This is how a native Texan sees it. Yet another "foreigner" has written a multi-generational Texas epic, following in the footsteps of Edna Ferber and James Michener. This author is from Baltimore, and even though he now lives "mostly in Texas," he continues the tradition of presenting unflattering stereotypes of Texans. None of the characters are admirable, not even the titular son, the only one with a conscience. Really, you guys, surely some Texans manage to be both successful and honorable.
The action follows three members of the McCullough family: Eli, born in 1836, the first male child of the new Republic of Texas; Peter, son of Eli, born in 1870, heir to infamy as well as to a fortune; and Jeanne Anne, granddaughter of Peter, born in 1926, a woman constantly striving to be accepted as "one of the boys."
The story of Eli, told in first person, is the most riveting, recounting his captivity at age 13 by the Comanche and his life as an accepted member of the tribe. Obviously (sometimes too obviously), much authorial research went into this portion of the story, and the details of Comanche life are vivid and absorbing. Once Eli is returned to white society, the story becomes less interesting, being an account of his overweening ambition and pragmatically ruthless opportunism and outright thievery as he amasses a fortune.
Peter's story is told in first person through his journals, beginning when he accompanies his father Eli and a group of vigilantes on a raid against a wealthy Mexican neighbor because of suspected cattle rustling, as they slaughter all in sight, including the women and children. Though he is tortured by guilt, Peter lacks the strength of character or courage to do anything to stop the carnage or Eli's subsequent fraudulent takeover of the neighbor's vast ranch. In fact, Peter is perhaps fully as blameworthy as the other characters because he recognizes injustice but weakly allows it, doing little more than wringing his hands.
Meyer switches to third person to tell Jeanne Anne's story, which is very definitely the least interesting of the three strands. Her life is extraordinarily uneventful, her ruling ambition not being to make yet more money but being to gain recognition from the male power brokers of Texas as one of their equals. In her attempt to do so, she, also, tramples on the rights of others. Poor little rich girl--making money hand over fist and she still can't get respect. The structure of the novel, which switches from character to character, ingeniously cloaks the weakness of the Jeanne Anne segments in between the more interesting sections.
The apparent theme of the novel, that all land and wealth is acquired by stealing it from someone else, is repeated numerous times in different contexts. In Texas, Indians had stolen the land from other Indians, the Mexicans then stole it from the Indians, and the Texans then stole it from the Mexicans. Blood watered the land and only the most ruthless survived.
Undoubtedly, variations of this scenario have always existed everywhere. And yet this bleak picture of humanity is not the whole story of any land, nor does it reflect the entirety of the history of Texas, despite what the television show Dallas and novels by Yankees might have you believe.
It's hard to know what opinion I might have if I lived in Wisconsin or New York City, for instance, but since I have lived all my life in Texas I'm sure my opinion is skewed. This is how a native Texan sees it. Yet another "foreigner" has written a multi-generational Texas epic, following in the footsteps of Edna Ferber and James Michener. This author is from Baltimore, and even though he now lives "mostly in Texas," he continues the tradition of presenting unflattering stereotypes of Texans. None of the characters are admirable, not even the titular son, the only one with a conscience. Really, you guys, surely some Texans manage to be both successful and honorable.
The action follows three members of the McCullough family: Eli, born in 1836, the first male child of the new Republic of Texas; Peter, son of Eli, born in 1870, heir to infamy as well as to a fortune; and Jeanne Anne, granddaughter of Peter, born in 1926, a woman constantly striving to be accepted as "one of the boys."
The story of Eli, told in first person, is the most riveting, recounting his captivity at age 13 by the Comanche and his life as an accepted member of the tribe. Obviously (sometimes too obviously), much authorial research went into this portion of the story, and the details of Comanche life are vivid and absorbing. Once Eli is returned to white society, the story becomes less interesting, being an account of his overweening ambition and pragmatically ruthless opportunism and outright thievery as he amasses a fortune.
Peter's story is told in first person through his journals, beginning when he accompanies his father Eli and a group of vigilantes on a raid against a wealthy Mexican neighbor because of suspected cattle rustling, as they slaughter all in sight, including the women and children. Though he is tortured by guilt, Peter lacks the strength of character or courage to do anything to stop the carnage or Eli's subsequent fraudulent takeover of the neighbor's vast ranch. In fact, Peter is perhaps fully as blameworthy as the other characters because he recognizes injustice but weakly allows it, doing little more than wringing his hands.
Meyer switches to third person to tell Jeanne Anne's story, which is very definitely the least interesting of the three strands. Her life is extraordinarily uneventful, her ruling ambition not being to make yet more money but being to gain recognition from the male power brokers of Texas as one of their equals. In her attempt to do so, she, also, tramples on the rights of others. Poor little rich girl--making money hand over fist and she still can't get respect. The structure of the novel, which switches from character to character, ingeniously cloaks the weakness of the Jeanne Anne segments in between the more interesting sections.
The apparent theme of the novel, that all land and wealth is acquired by stealing it from someone else, is repeated numerous times in different contexts. In Texas, Indians had stolen the land from other Indians, the Mexicans then stole it from the Indians, and the Texans then stole it from the Mexicans. Blood watered the land and only the most ruthless survived.
Undoubtedly, variations of this scenario have always existed everywhere. And yet this bleak picture of humanity is not the whole story of any land, nor does it reflect the entirety of the history of Texas, despite what the television show Dallas and novels by Yankees might have you believe.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said by Philip K. Dick
As always, Philip K. Dick makes the reader question the nature of existence. What is real? Do alternate realities co-exist with perceived reality? Are we lost in our dreams? Are we lost in someone else's dream? Are we lost in a drug-induced nightmare?
Although this Dick novel is one of his most honored (nominated for the Hugo and Nebula Awards and winner of the John W. Campbell Award), to my mind it is the least effective of his major works.
The premise is intriguing: World-famous singer and talk show host Jason Taverner awakes one morning to a reality where nobody knows his name--not his agent, not his girl friend, not even the police data bank which tracks everybody, everywhere. The world seems the same, but he is suddenly cast adrift as a non-person with no proof of his existence.
However, the enticing premise is never fully explored. What follows is a rather rambling narrative of a series of encounters by Taverner with women to whom he turns for help and of his more crucial experiences with the Police General and his bi-sexual sister. The solution to the mystery of Taverner's experience is eventually given, but it is rather far-fetched and entirely anti-climactic.
Along the way we have enticing glimpses of a claustrophobic police state following a second Civil War, but details are just dropped and not explored as to their effects.
Altogether, it seems to me that Dick probably wrote this novel without a clear focus or plan, in a stream-of-consciousness manner. It is perhaps revealing that the most effectively written portion of the novel is the account of a mescaline-induced hallucinatory experience.
Despite expectations, perhaps, the novel is often quite humorous in its ironic asides, and it often supplies impressive paranoic quotes, such as the following: "...don't come to the attention of the authorities. Don't ever interest us. Don't make us want to know more about you."
I believe that is good advice, in any reality.
Although this Dick novel is one of his most honored (nominated for the Hugo and Nebula Awards and winner of the John W. Campbell Award), to my mind it is the least effective of his major works.
The premise is intriguing: World-famous singer and talk show host Jason Taverner awakes one morning to a reality where nobody knows his name--not his agent, not his girl friend, not even the police data bank which tracks everybody, everywhere. The world seems the same, but he is suddenly cast adrift as a non-person with no proof of his existence.
However, the enticing premise is never fully explored. What follows is a rather rambling narrative of a series of encounters by Taverner with women to whom he turns for help and of his more crucial experiences with the Police General and his bi-sexual sister. The solution to the mystery of Taverner's experience is eventually given, but it is rather far-fetched and entirely anti-climactic.
Along the way we have enticing glimpses of a claustrophobic police state following a second Civil War, but details are just dropped and not explored as to their effects.
Altogether, it seems to me that Dick probably wrote this novel without a clear focus or plan, in a stream-of-consciousness manner. It is perhaps revealing that the most effectively written portion of the novel is the account of a mescaline-induced hallucinatory experience.
Despite expectations, perhaps, the novel is often quite humorous in its ironic asides, and it often supplies impressive paranoic quotes, such as the following: "...don't come to the attention of the authorities. Don't ever interest us. Don't make us want to know more about you."
I believe that is good advice, in any reality.
Monday, October 28, 2013
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte
Last month I read and reviewed Anne Bronte's first novel, Agnes Grey, and remarked that her relative lack of fame was deserved, as I found that novel to be dull as to plot, with an insufferably whiny and preachy heroine. Now I must revise my opinion of the third Bronte sister. This, her second (and last) novel, places her fully on the same literary level as her more famous sisters.
While Charlotte's Jane Eyre, and Emily's Wuthering Heights both contained elements of the Romantic and the Gothic, Anne's Tenant is notable for its realism in picturing degenerate behavior and the oppression of a patriarchal society which stripped women of all rights, even as regards to their children.
Anne's heroine, Helen, marries the handsome and charming Arthur Huntingdon despite the warnings from her prudent aunt, even knowing that he has a reputation for a bit of bad behavior. Like many a young girl before and since, she is seduced by his bad-boy sex appeal and believes she can reform him through her love. And like many a young girl before and since, she soon finds out that love is not enough to correct a spoiled young man's selfishness and lack of concern for others or for common morality.
Helen's life becomes a constant struggle as she tries to influence her husband for the good while he indulges in drunkenness and debauchery. She tries sweet appeals; she tries reasoning; she tries upbraiding; she tries preaching. Things just get worse. Then Huntingdon begins "making a man" of their young son. He and his carousing friends encourage the 5-year-old "to tipple wine like papa, to swear like Mr. Hattersley, and to have his own way like a man, and sent Mama to the devil when she tried to prevent him." She also finds that she is expected to tolerate her husband's adultery.
A young woman in this situation today would have more options than Helen had; at that time she would not be allowed to divorce, would not be entitled to any money or property of her own, and would not even have custody of children if she left her husband. How brave, and how desperate, she is when she runs away.
The scenes in the novel centering on Huntingdon and his group of friends are chilling in their realism. Sadly enough, Anne had more than enough real-life example of such behavior through observing the alcohol and drug-fueled degeneration of her brother Branwell. Her experiences as a governess also contributed to the realism, particularly as to the common practices of rearing male children to be self-centered and brutish.
When it was published, this novel garnered much praise, but also much criticism for its realistic portrayal of degenerate behavior. Some considered it exaggerated for the effect of sensationalism. Anne's sister Charlotte, for whatever reason, blocked further publication of the novel after Anne's death, saying that the novel, "...hardly seems to me desirable to preserve...the choice of subject in that work is a mistake." Perhaps she was wary of revealing so much of her brother's behavior; perhaps she was really shocked at some of the realism; perhaps she was just jealous of her sister's talents.
Today's reader may find the heroine to be a bit moralistic and goody-good, but Anne's stated goal was "to tell the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it." This novel is the truth as she knew it. It is a truth which endures, and women today would do well to take lessens.
While Charlotte's Jane Eyre, and Emily's Wuthering Heights both contained elements of the Romantic and the Gothic, Anne's Tenant is notable for its realism in picturing degenerate behavior and the oppression of a patriarchal society which stripped women of all rights, even as regards to their children.
Anne's heroine, Helen, marries the handsome and charming Arthur Huntingdon despite the warnings from her prudent aunt, even knowing that he has a reputation for a bit of bad behavior. Like many a young girl before and since, she is seduced by his bad-boy sex appeal and believes she can reform him through her love. And like many a young girl before and since, she soon finds out that love is not enough to correct a spoiled young man's selfishness and lack of concern for others or for common morality.
Helen's life becomes a constant struggle as she tries to influence her husband for the good while he indulges in drunkenness and debauchery. She tries sweet appeals; she tries reasoning; she tries upbraiding; she tries preaching. Things just get worse. Then Huntingdon begins "making a man" of their young son. He and his carousing friends encourage the 5-year-old "to tipple wine like papa, to swear like Mr. Hattersley, and to have his own way like a man, and sent Mama to the devil when she tried to prevent him." She also finds that she is expected to tolerate her husband's adultery.
A young woman in this situation today would have more options than Helen had; at that time she would not be allowed to divorce, would not be entitled to any money or property of her own, and would not even have custody of children if she left her husband. How brave, and how desperate, she is when she runs away.
The scenes in the novel centering on Huntingdon and his group of friends are chilling in their realism. Sadly enough, Anne had more than enough real-life example of such behavior through observing the alcohol and drug-fueled degeneration of her brother Branwell. Her experiences as a governess also contributed to the realism, particularly as to the common practices of rearing male children to be self-centered and brutish.
When it was published, this novel garnered much praise, but also much criticism for its realistic portrayal of degenerate behavior. Some considered it exaggerated for the effect of sensationalism. Anne's sister Charlotte, for whatever reason, blocked further publication of the novel after Anne's death, saying that the novel, "...hardly seems to me desirable to preserve...the choice of subject in that work is a mistake." Perhaps she was wary of revealing so much of her brother's behavior; perhaps she was really shocked at some of the realism; perhaps she was just jealous of her sister's talents.
Today's reader may find the heroine to be a bit moralistic and goody-good, but Anne's stated goal was "to tell the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it." This novel is the truth as she knew it. It is a truth which endures, and women today would do well to take lessens.
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