Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Book 11. The Graveyard Book
I just finished and I just finished crying. Maybe the end hit me so hard because it is my birthday and all I can think about with the passage of time are the things I haven't done and probably never will do. Not to mention the stupid mistakes that I have made. Though without them, I wouldn't be me but that doesn't stop me from obsessing. What a great book. I need to let it resonate for a day before I finish this. Sigh.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Book #10 The Nanny Diaries Part 2
I really tend to publish these reviews in bulk. With that said, there isn't too much to say about this book. I read the first Nanny Diaries when it came out several years ago. Kind of at the height of the "chick-lit" (which always sounds sexual to me) phenomenon. I remember it as being very entertaining and "informative" concerning the lives of Upper East Side families. I guess that was before Gossip Girl (not that I watch that trash... faithfully).
So this book picks up several years later after Nan has married, moved abroad, and finally settled with her Husband in NYC. In the past I have bitched and moaned about authors who insist upon recapping the previous book in a serious in the first two chapters. I am here to rescind that gripe. The author (too lazy to get the Kindle to figure out her name) makes vague references to events in the past but doesn't flesh them out. Which would be all fine and dandy if some of those events weren't integral to the plot in this book. At any rate, Nan's husband goes to Africa for business leaving her alone in their under-renovation Brownstone. Late one evening her charge from her Nannying day shows up drunk and despondent on her front stoop. He lays into her for the way she left (something to do with a confession spoken into a stuffed Nanny-cam bear) and promptly passes out. Hijinx ensue. Seriously. She somehow ends up in charge not only of the 17 year old but of his pre-teen brother Stilton whom the parents have also managed to treat as an object to be had rather than a child. I don't know, other people come and go, some such business about a helicopter pad at the private school at which she is employed (doing some type of vague staff liaison job), Ponzi schemes make an appearance as well as faking cancer to avoid a scandal. Snooty friends from private school, a trip to Hamptons, inappropriate groping by an entitled husband, and a discount Miro (Rothko? Neither? Don't remember) round out the story.
I can usually plow through these types of books in an afternoon. For some reason, this just didn't hold my interest. I couldn't remember character names, I had to go back and reread to figure out what the hell was going on when I would pick up the book after a few days. The sentences were oddly constructed (not that mine prove to be much better). It all seemed kind of trite. Kind of already done on Gossip Girl or other upper east side trash shows.
It wasn't bad, it wasn't good. If you have read the first, you may as well read the second. If you watch Gossip Girl, you will have heard it all before and quite frankly better. So, thumbs neutral.
So this book picks up several years later after Nan has married, moved abroad, and finally settled with her Husband in NYC. In the past I have bitched and moaned about authors who insist upon recapping the previous book in a serious in the first two chapters. I am here to rescind that gripe. The author (too lazy to get the Kindle to figure out her name) makes vague references to events in the past but doesn't flesh them out. Which would be all fine and dandy if some of those events weren't integral to the plot in this book. At any rate, Nan's husband goes to Africa for business leaving her alone in their under-renovation Brownstone. Late one evening her charge from her Nannying day shows up drunk and despondent on her front stoop. He lays into her for the way she left (something to do with a confession spoken into a stuffed Nanny-cam bear) and promptly passes out. Hijinx ensue. Seriously. She somehow ends up in charge not only of the 17 year old but of his pre-teen brother Stilton whom the parents have also managed to treat as an object to be had rather than a child. I don't know, other people come and go, some such business about a helicopter pad at the private school at which she is employed (doing some type of vague staff liaison job), Ponzi schemes make an appearance as well as faking cancer to avoid a scandal. Snooty friends from private school, a trip to Hamptons, inappropriate groping by an entitled husband, and a discount Miro (Rothko? Neither? Don't remember) round out the story.
I can usually plow through these types of books in an afternoon. For some reason, this just didn't hold my interest. I couldn't remember character names, I had to go back and reread to figure out what the hell was going on when I would pick up the book after a few days. The sentences were oddly constructed (not that mine prove to be much better). It all seemed kind of trite. Kind of already done on Gossip Girl or other upper east side trash shows.
It wasn't bad, it wasn't good. If you have read the first, you may as well read the second. If you watch Gossip Girl, you will have heard it all before and quite frankly better. So, thumbs neutral.
Book 9. Lolita
I could have sworn that I read this book in it's entirety years ago, and perhaps I did but I just don't remember all of it. Well, either way, I have read it again. I think that when Humbert started to lose it on his final cross country trip with Dolly I started to shut down. Once she was gone and things became a bit more coherent I was able to power through and finish it (in the nick of time I might add). I found the end note by Nabakov to be more interesting than the manuscript itself. Or at the very least a wonderful addition to the story. Was Humbert truly sorry for the life (lives) that he ruined? Was he truly mad? Was Lolita's behaviour a result of his affections or used to gain his affections? It has been so many years that I have been out of school and have "needed" to read a book for more than the passing of time and enjoyment that this was a good exercise for me. I do look forward to the discussion tomorrow.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Book 8. Pirate Latitudes
Not really sure where I have been but as it turns out Michael Crichton has died. A quick scan of Wikipedia tells me that this happened November of 2008. Hmm. Completely missed it, but then that may because I have read absolutely nothing that he has written. ER was the only acquaintance I had with him and that was years and years ago when I watched that. So yeah, I have never seen Jurassic Park, sue me. What led me to Pirate Latitudes? I honestly have no idea. Maybe it was on some Kindle list? New releases? All I know is that unlike most of the things I buy (I am a total Kindle Hoarder, like what they are going to do stop selling certain books? Are the digital version is going to sell out? Jesus, get a grip) I read this right away. I must have been in the mood for some pirates, sea monsters, cannibals, and corrupt government officials.
This was good stuff. You know how some books make you want to hop in your time machine and in this case your sex change machine and be the main character in the book? Or even a supporting character? I totally wanted to do that. I wanted to be a pirate in the 17th century. These weren’t Disneyfied pirates, they were womanizing killers and thieves. I don’t know if it was the plot, the descriptions, or a combination of the two that made me want to be there. Whatever it was, it made for a really good read.
The book starts in 1665 in Port Royal, Jamaica. The governor, Sir James Almont is on his way to attend the hanging of a man convicted of being a pirate. In this colony privateering is a completely acceptable profession, but pirating will get a guy hung. The difference between the two is all semantics. A merchant ship arrives in the bay carrying Almont’s new secretary Hacklett, his wife, and group of female English convicts meant to be wives for the men on the island. Almont hears that on the trip to Jamaica the people aboard the Godspeed saw a Spanish galleon at anchor in the bay of Spanish controlled island. A plan is born. Enter Hunter, a well respected privateer with a small sloop. At the behest of Almont he gathers together a crew and they set off to capture a seemingly uncapturable Spanish treasure ship. In the course of the narrative, Hunter and his crew are captured, there is sword fighting, cannonball fire, sinking ships, treasure, sea monsters, cannibals, oh my. When he and his crew finally return to Port Royal the situation is not as they had hoped.
Admittedly, at the first sighting of the sea monster all I could think was oh crap, this is turning into some weirdo scifi gig. It conjured memories of that horrid made for tv movie about the giant squid. What the hell was that tripe called? Not important. I also kept thinking that this was total Hollywood material that would no doubt be presented as a summer block buster riddled with CGI and some milquetoast actor as Hunter. I hope that this scenario does not play out.
There was bit more blood and guts than I accustomed to in my usual fictional fare. On the flip side there was a good deal of pirate superstition and nautical folklore. Which I find to be interesting. All in all, a really good adventure story. In the future I do not think I will be sliding into any other Crichton works only because I don’t find the subject matter particularly intriguing. As it stands, Pirate Latitudes: A Novel gets the thumbs up.
This was good stuff. You know how some books make you want to hop in your time machine and in this case your sex change machine and be the main character in the book? Or even a supporting character? I totally wanted to do that. I wanted to be a pirate in the 17th century. These weren’t Disneyfied pirates, they were womanizing killers and thieves. I don’t know if it was the plot, the descriptions, or a combination of the two that made me want to be there. Whatever it was, it made for a really good read.
The book starts in 1665 in Port Royal, Jamaica. The governor, Sir James Almont is on his way to attend the hanging of a man convicted of being a pirate. In this colony privateering is a completely acceptable profession, but pirating will get a guy hung. The difference between the two is all semantics. A merchant ship arrives in the bay carrying Almont’s new secretary Hacklett, his wife, and group of female English convicts meant to be wives for the men on the island. Almont hears that on the trip to Jamaica the people aboard the Godspeed saw a Spanish galleon at anchor in the bay of Spanish controlled island. A plan is born. Enter Hunter, a well respected privateer with a small sloop. At the behest of Almont he gathers together a crew and they set off to capture a seemingly uncapturable Spanish treasure ship. In the course of the narrative, Hunter and his crew are captured, there is sword fighting, cannonball fire, sinking ships, treasure, sea monsters, cannibals, oh my. When he and his crew finally return to Port Royal the situation is not as they had hoped.
Admittedly, at the first sighting of the sea monster all I could think was oh crap, this is turning into some weirdo scifi gig. It conjured memories of that horrid made for tv movie about the giant squid. What the hell was that tripe called? Not important. I also kept thinking that this was total Hollywood material that would no doubt be presented as a summer block buster riddled with CGI and some milquetoast actor as Hunter. I hope that this scenario does not play out.
There was bit more blood and guts than I accustomed to in my usual fictional fare. On the flip side there was a good deal of pirate superstition and nautical folklore. Which I find to be interesting. All in all, a really good adventure story. In the future I do not think I will be sliding into any other Crichton works only because I don’t find the subject matter particularly intriguing. As it stands, Pirate Latitudes: A Novel gets the thumbs up.
Hell. Book 7. No really, the title is Hell.
So I finished this sometime in mid Dececmeber, but as usual, I put off the reivew. I have found that I have been to busy at work flirting with a Canadian over email and reading Pajiba to write the review, oh and do any actual work.
At any rate, from what I remember Robert Olen Butler’s Hell is well written and quite funny. Hell, in his imagination, is a thoroughly modern place with all the amenities of today’s society. It seems everyone is there from the obvious, Stalin, Hitler, Henry the VIII, to the less obvious Bill Clinton (who is compelled to pull down his pants everytime a woman enters his hotel room), Shakespeare (his writing is doomed by the Blue Screen of Death), and a manical Nixon as a chauffer. I seem to remember the Bee Gees being there. Huh.
So the premise is this, Hatcher was a newscaster in life and is now one in hell. He lands the interview of the his afterlife with Satan for his on going series “Why Do You Think You Are Here?”. Though this interview is just a small portion of the book, I found it to be the absolute funniest part. To aviod giving too much information, I will go on to say that as a result of this interview Hatcher figures out that he still retains his own free will and that his thoughts are his own, Satan is not in on everthing. From this discovery he begins to formulate a way out of Hell. With the help of Virgil, Anne Boylen, his exwives, and many other guest appearances he eventally finds what he is looking for.
Again, engaging, well written (unlike this review), and somewhat thought provoking. From Bulter’s comments on society, to the “cameos” this is one of those books that you read the frist time for the content and the second time to pick up all of the humor you missed on the first pass. Kind reminds me of An Evening of Long Goodbyes and Good Omens (funniest book ever, and I missed 99% of the British Humor).
So yeah, that is it on this one. I would read Olen’s other titles. In short, thumbs up – from my perspective. Oh yeah, one problem. The Kindle version was kind of jacked up. The ‘y’s were cut off at the bottom and would show up in random places leading to confusing formatting at times. And that is my only gripe. On this topic.
At any rate, from what I remember Robert Olen Butler’s Hell is well written and quite funny. Hell, in his imagination, is a thoroughly modern place with all the amenities of today’s society. It seems everyone is there from the obvious, Stalin, Hitler, Henry the VIII, to the less obvious Bill Clinton (who is compelled to pull down his pants everytime a woman enters his hotel room), Shakespeare (his writing is doomed by the Blue Screen of Death), and a manical Nixon as a chauffer. I seem to remember the Bee Gees being there. Huh.
So the premise is this, Hatcher was a newscaster in life and is now one in hell. He lands the interview of the his afterlife with Satan for his on going series “Why Do You Think You Are Here?”. Though this interview is just a small portion of the book, I found it to be the absolute funniest part. To aviod giving too much information, I will go on to say that as a result of this interview Hatcher figures out that he still retains his own free will and that his thoughts are his own, Satan is not in on everthing. From this discovery he begins to formulate a way out of Hell. With the help of Virgil, Anne Boylen, his exwives, and many other guest appearances he eventally finds what he is looking for.
Again, engaging, well written (unlike this review), and somewhat thought provoking. From Bulter’s comments on society, to the “cameos” this is one of those books that you read the frist time for the content and the second time to pick up all of the humor you missed on the first pass. Kind reminds me of An Evening of Long Goodbyes and Good Omens (funniest book ever, and I missed 99% of the British Humor).
So yeah, that is it on this one. I would read Olen’s other titles. In short, thumbs up – from my perspective. Oh yeah, one problem. The Kindle version was kind of jacked up. The ‘y’s were cut off at the bottom and would show up in random places leading to confusing formatting at times. And that is my only gripe. On this topic.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Too Much Money. Too Much Repetition. Book 6
Do audio books count? I am going with yes. It seems that the dog can neither drive nor read so I had to break down, spend the cheese, and buy an audio book. I have never felt so 80 years old in my life. Except this morning, but that was probably the hangover. Actually, I bought two, but Amazon was unable to deliver the goods in time for my trip. Naturally, the one that I really didn't want was the one that arrived on time.
Good ol' Dominick Dunne. How could I go wrong? Snark and high society for 9.5 hours of the 11.5 I had to kill in the car. Let me just start by saying I was under the impression that unabridged meant complete, not repetitious. I guess I was wrong. So the hook is this, Gus Baily is being sued for slander. He repeated a tidbit of gossip on a radio show that turned out to be false. This story was spread and he is not on the hook for $11M. Gus is a thinly disguised Dominick. Though I can't remember for what he was being sued, but it was something. Anyway Gus gets contracted to write a novel about the death of Konstantin Zacharias. A thinly veiled Edmond Saffra. Konstantin's wife is none too pleased and wishes for the whole thing to go away. Other insanely wealthy characters come and go, surely disguised real insanely wealthy people whom I am not aware of as HSV AL is not very close to the upper east side and the only 0s in my check book are in the tens column. So I knew in my brain that there had to be some type of a plot and I kept listening and listening to find one, but alas, none was to be found. Gus fades in and out of chapters and becomes progressively more whiny and also comes out of the closet. Wait, was Dominick Dunne gay? No matter this is a gossip novel. Names of fancy items are repeated and repeated. Turnbull and Asser, one must really have their suits and ties and shirts handmade there. Smythson of Bond Street Stationers, forget the Moleskine you common white trash! If you are lucky enough to own your own jet you are the shit and you will make many friends. Lasting and true relationships I am certain. All maids are thieves. Old single rich ladies have Walkers. Shit you not, when the Brooke Astor character shows up at a luncheon with her Walker Winkie Williams I thought that she had named the apparatus that aided in her mobility. Not so much. Old rich ladies have Gays to squire them around. Huh. I will have to impart this knowledge on my friend Kevin. Then there is the sex. Let me tell you, I am a teen aged boy at heart. The reading aloud of dirty words by some woman who is trying to be dead serious in various accents slayed me. At one point an insanely wealthy man has a stroke with his penis *giggle giggle she said penis* out in the bathroom. The sentence went something like, "his penis began to urniate all over." So does that mean that the penis is really the brains of the operation? Or is it it's own separate entity? That explains quite a few things. When the mention of rimming came about I nearly lost control of the car. As for the repetition. Every single time a person was mentioned their background was given. After 5 hours I was reciting, with the reader, the back story on each person. Horrid. Simply horrid. It was literally too much. As for the resolution of the nonplot, I have no idea. I do not know if the lawsuit was dropped, if the book got written, if the secrets all came out. It is just a blur. So, long and short of it, fine for the beach. Fine for the car. Not offensive, but not worth the $22 either.
Good ol' Dominick Dunne. How could I go wrong? Snark and high society for 9.5 hours of the 11.5 I had to kill in the car. Let me just start by saying I was under the impression that unabridged meant complete, not repetitious. I guess I was wrong. So the hook is this, Gus Baily is being sued for slander. He repeated a tidbit of gossip on a radio show that turned out to be false. This story was spread and he is not on the hook for $11M. Gus is a thinly disguised Dominick. Though I can't remember for what he was being sued, but it was something. Anyway Gus gets contracted to write a novel about the death of Konstantin Zacharias. A thinly veiled Edmond Saffra. Konstantin's wife is none too pleased and wishes for the whole thing to go away. Other insanely wealthy characters come and go, surely disguised real insanely wealthy people whom I am not aware of as HSV AL is not very close to the upper east side and the only 0s in my check book are in the tens column. So I knew in my brain that there had to be some type of a plot and I kept listening and listening to find one, but alas, none was to be found. Gus fades in and out of chapters and becomes progressively more whiny and also comes out of the closet. Wait, was Dominick Dunne gay? No matter this is a gossip novel. Names of fancy items are repeated and repeated. Turnbull and Asser, one must really have their suits and ties and shirts handmade there. Smythson of Bond Street Stationers, forget the Moleskine you common white trash! If you are lucky enough to own your own jet you are the shit and you will make many friends. Lasting and true relationships I am certain. All maids are thieves. Old single rich ladies have Walkers. Shit you not, when the Brooke Astor character shows up at a luncheon with her Walker Winkie Williams I thought that she had named the apparatus that aided in her mobility. Not so much. Old rich ladies have Gays to squire them around. Huh. I will have to impart this knowledge on my friend Kevin. Then there is the sex. Let me tell you, I am a teen aged boy at heart. The reading aloud of dirty words by some woman who is trying to be dead serious in various accents slayed me. At one point an insanely wealthy man has a stroke with his penis *giggle giggle she said penis* out in the bathroom. The sentence went something like, "his penis began to urniate all over." So does that mean that the penis is really the brains of the operation? Or is it it's own separate entity? That explains quite a few things. When the mention of rimming came about I nearly lost control of the car. As for the repetition. Every single time a person was mentioned their background was given. After 5 hours I was reciting, with the reader, the back story on each person. Horrid. Simply horrid. It was literally too much. As for the resolution of the nonplot, I have no idea. I do not know if the lawsuit was dropped, if the book got written, if the secrets all came out. It is just a blur. So, long and short of it, fine for the beach. Fine for the car. Not offensive, but not worth the $22 either.
Merry Freaking Christmas Book 5
Every year when I lived in Iowa, KWWL would air A Christmas Carol at midnight on Christmas Eve. The good one. The one with Alastair Sim. Having long since moved I have the movie on DVD and make it a ritual of watching it as I drift off to sleep every December 24th. Except for this one. UGH!!! I drove to FL and FORGOT MY FAVORITE XMAS MOVIE. Well, one of my favorites. So there I was, Alastair Simless and the 24th was drawing nigh. What was I to do but reread the original. Which turned out to be a wonderful idea. It has been several years since I read this and I truly forgot what a masterful tales Dickens was able to create. Some of my favorite quotes from early on in the book:
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. (Cracked me up)
The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. (The fact that words can be put together to come up with such vivid imagery amazes me, or maybe I am just remembering the movie, how tacky would that be? I like think it is the words)
“What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ‘im through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,” Scrooge said indignantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly thorough his heart. He should!” (My feelings precisely)
There is no sense in a synopsis, we all know the story. But I will stop to say this, I have been for the past two years trying to cancel Christmas. It has yet to work. I can not stand the urging by the television to get out and SPEND YOUR MONEY NOW, the expectations by certain family members that I WILL be buying them a gift because they purchased one for me (um, it is better to give that to DEMAND to receive), and the basic well, gluttony, of it all. This book reminded me that Christmas is supposed to be about (minus the Bible stuff) being with your family and friends, being thankful for what you have and being kind to others. That is what I want for Christmas next year. A goose, some figgy pudding, some booze, and good friends and family. And with that, Merry late Christmas, and Happy Early New Year.
PS, Read some Dickens. Any Dickens. The words are wonderful. And the humor sneaks up on you.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. (Cracked me up)
The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. (The fact that words can be put together to come up with such vivid imagery amazes me, or maybe I am just remembering the movie, how tacky would that be? I like think it is the words)
“What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ‘im through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,” Scrooge said indignantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly thorough his heart. He should!” (My feelings precisely)
There is no sense in a synopsis, we all know the story. But I will stop to say this, I have been for the past two years trying to cancel Christmas. It has yet to work. I can not stand the urging by the television to get out and SPEND YOUR MONEY NOW, the expectations by certain family members that I WILL be buying them a gift because they purchased one for me (um, it is better to give that to DEMAND to receive), and the basic well, gluttony, of it all. This book reminded me that Christmas is supposed to be about (minus the Bible stuff) being with your family and friends, being thankful for what you have and being kind to others. That is what I want for Christmas next year. A goose, some figgy pudding, some booze, and good friends and family. And with that, Merry late Christmas, and Happy Early New Year.
PS, Read some Dickens. Any Dickens. The words are wonderful. And the humor sneaks up on you.
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